“Certainly,” says he. “What do I live and work for except that my wife shall have everything she wants?”
“Don’t claim to be too disinterested! I am sure you are dying to have me approve your scheme.”
“I think we are both growing excited about it. But let us come to a conclusion. Which shall it be, boy or girl?”
“Boys are so merry and noisy in a solitary house,” said Mrs. Brightly, thinking of her son.
“Girls are so gentle and quiet,” Brightly returned.
“But then I am so afraid boys will get riotous companions, and be taught to smoke pipes.”
“And girls must learn music and flirtation.”
Each parent was evidently trifling away tears. The loss of their children was a bitter chapter in their history. They dared no more than glance at it, for fear their childless life should seem but idle, aimless business.
“We must draw lots,” said Brightly, assuming a serio-comic air.
Mrs. Brightly, still couchant, watched smiling, while he took a clothes-broom and selected two straws.
“Graver matters have been decided by lot,” said Brightly. “Draw, Mary. If you get the shorter straw, it’s a girl; if the longer, a boy.”
She coquetted a little, and finally selected her straw. They compare them carefully.
She had drawn a girl.
