He was evidently just ready for
his bath, for he was wrapped in a blanket, and one pink foot stuck
temptingly out from its folds. Azalea greeted me with enthusiasm,
pushing back the loose, curling locks from her forehead as she did so,
explaining that Bud had just pulled them down. She did not look in the
least like the girl who had sung for us, but it occurred to me that,
enveloped in the big flannel bath-apron, she was even more engaging than
she had been upon the porch at the Farm.
I don't know when I have enjoyed anything so much as I enjoyed seeing
Azalea give that bath. The little baby was asleep in her crib when we
went into the nursery--which had been the guest-room before the second
baby came--so Azalea gave Bud his splash all by himself. He was plump
and dimpled and jolly, and he cried only once--when his mother
inadvertently rubbed soap in his eyes while talking with me. When he
smiled again he was a cherub of cherubs, but he had waked his small
sister, and Azalea gave me permission to take her up while she finished
with Bud.
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