Overnight Mrs. Berry had observed a long stranger in her tea-cup.  Posting him on her fingers and starting him with a smack, he had vaulted lightly and thereby indicated that he was positively coming the next day.  She forgot him in the bustle of her duties and the absorption of her faculties in thoughts of the incomparable stranger Lucy had presented to the world, till a knock at the street-door reminded her.  “There he is!” she cried, as she ran to open to him.  “There’s my stranger come!” Never was a woman’s faith in omens so justified.  The stranger desired to see Mrs. Richard Feverel.  He said his name was Mr. Austin Wentworth.  Mrs. Berry clasped her hands, exclaiming, “Come at last!” and ran bolt out of the house to look up and down the street.  Presently she returned with many excuses for her rudeness, saying:  “I expected to see her comin’ home, Mr. Wentworth.  Every day twice a day she go out to give her blessed angel an airing.  No leavin’ the child with nursemaids for her!  She is a mother! and good milk, too, thank the Lord! though her heart’s so low.”

Indoors Mrs. Berry stated who she was, related the history of the young couple and her participation in it, and admired the beard.  “Although I’d swear you don’t wear it for ornament, now!” she said, having in the first impulse designed a stroke at man’s vanity.

Ultimately Mrs. Berry spoke of the family complication, and with dejected head and joined hands threw out dark hints about Richard.

While Austin was giving his cheerfuller views of the case, Lucy came in preceding the baby.

“I am Austin Wentworth,” he said, taking her hand.  They read each other’s faces, these two, and smiled kinship.

“Your name is Lucy?”

She affirmed it softly.

“And mine is Austin, as you know.”

Mrs. Berry allowed time for Lucy’s charms to subdue him, and presented Richard’s representative, who, seeing a new face, suffered himself to be contemplated before he commenced crying aloud and knocking at the doors of Nature for something that was due to him.

“Ain’t he a lusty darlin’?” says Mrs. Berry.  “Ain’t he like his own father?  There can’t be no doubt about zoo, zoo pitty pet.  Look at his fists.  Ain’t he got passion?  Ain’t he a splendid roarer?  Oh!” and she went off rapturously into baby-language.

A fine boy, certainly.  Mrs. Berry exhibited his legs for further proof, desiring Austin’s confirmation as to their being dumplings.

Lucy murmured a word of excuse, and bore the splendid roarer out of the room.

“She might a done it here,” said Mrs. Berry.  “There’s no prettier sight, I say.  If her dear husband could but see that!  He’s off in his heroics—­he want to be doin’ all sorts o’ things:  I say he’ll never do anything grander than that baby.  You should ’a seen her uncle over that baby—­he came here, for I said, you shall see your own family, my dear, and so she thinks.  He come, and he laughed