where but at the Light," she exclaimed, "and of his being so little! Where were these taken?"
"In Boston, all of them," Elspeth replied. "See the Washington statue in the Public Gardens looming up behind those of Garth in the pram? How silly I look! That was when people wore those idiotic skirts."
There was a picture of Jim,—younger, and rather too thin,—holding Garth on his knees, the baby waving a toy duck joyously in his father's face. And one of Elspeth sitting on the floor constructing a block-house for the entertainment of her son, who, from his attitude, seemed about to demolish the whole thing.
"He did," Elspeth affirmed. "In fact, that appeared to be his idea of the whole purpose of a block-house—to be pushed down. It always went with a crash, and he said 'Gang!' and shouted with glee. Here's where he was just beginning to walk. He really was nice, wasn't he! His hair was pale gold, Joan. Would you ever guess it?" She rumpled up her son's bronze curls, and he ducked, laughing, out of her reach.
So many happy pictures, page after page! Elspeth, turning a leaf eagerly, said:
"Oh, this is very nice! It's enlarged from
