was.  She was very small, and, judging from her size, one would have said she was hardly three; but the expression of her face was so mature, and she saw things so quickly and understood so readily, that she must have been older.  She was certainly very precocious, with a most inquiring turn of mind, and Mrs. Crawford felt herself greatly interested in her as she watched her active movements and listened to the musical prattle she could not understand.

She had examined the carpet-bag, in which were found the articles necessary for an ocean voyage, and little else.  Most of these were soiled from use, but there was among them a little clean, white apron, and this Mrs. Crawford put upon the child, after having washed her face and hands and brushed her wavy hair, which had a trick of coiling itself into soft, fluffy curls all over her head.

The bread and milk had been given her about twelve o’clock, and the laugh she gave when she saw it showed her appreciation of it quite as much as the eagerness with which she ate it.  Her appetite appeased, however, she began to play with it and throw the milk over the table and into Mrs. Crawford’s face, just as Harold came in, full of what he had seen at the park, and anxious to see his baby, as he called her.

Taking her on his lap and kissing her rosy cheeks, he began to narrate to his grandmother all that had been done, and told her that Mr. St. Claire had given it as his opinion that the woman was French.

‘And if so,’ he continued, ’baby must be French, too, though she does not look a bit like her mother, who is very dark and not—­well, not at all like you or Mrs. St. Claire.’

Then he told of the trunk which the baggage-master had taken to the park, and of what it contained.

‘The woman’s clothes were marked “N.B."’ he said, ’and some of the baby’s—­such a funny name.  Mr. St. Claire said it was French, and pronounced “Jerreen,” though it is spelled “Jerrine."’

‘That is the name of the child’s things in the bag,’ Mrs. Crawford said.

‘Of course it is baby’s, then,’ Harold replied; ’but, I shall call her Jerry for short, even if it is a boy’s name, and so my little lady, I christen you Jerry;’ and kissing the forehead, the eyes, the nose, and the chin, he marked the shape of the cross upon the face upturned to his, and named his baby ‘Jerry.’

Later, when he knew more of the world, he would change the ‘y’ into ‘ie,’ but now she was simply Jerry, and when he called her that she laughed and nodded as if the sound were not new to her.  She was a beautiful child, with complexion as pure as wax, and eyes which might have borrowed their color from the blue lakes of Italy, or from the skies of England when they are at their brightest.

‘I wish she could talk to me.  I suppose she must speak French,’ he said, as he was trying in vain to make her understand him.  ’Don’t you know a word I say?’ he asked her, and her reply was what sounded to him like ‘We, we.’