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 I am not going to stand godfather to any more of her children, for I am tired of it."

"But the name, father—shall mother call it Frances?"

"She may call it Souse if she likes; what is the name of a girl to me? it is all one, so go away, Robina, for I am busy."

Christopher Bangs was now a rich man, and was cautious and prudent in all his money matters, but he had no more care of his children and household than if he were the great-grandfather. He arose early, went to the workshop, saw that every thing went right there, returned home at eight, with the certainty of finding the breakfast waiting for him. At this meal he only saw some of the eldest of the girls, but being a man of few words, and looking on women and girls as mere workers, and of a different race, he had no thoughts in common with them. The conversation, therefore, was all on the part of Mrs. Bangs, who told of the price of beef and poultry, and what her husband might expect at dinner. He nodded his head drily, but said nothing, being sure that, come what would, he should find an excellent meal. He gave her as much money as she wanted, a privilege which she never abused, and all he had to do was to build a new house whenever she presented him with another poor, chubby, little thing; for she had resolved that every child should have a house.

Exactly at one o'clock his dinner was ready, and at this meal all the children were assembled—for, as his wife observed, if he did not see them all together once a day, he might chance to forget some of them; so, in time, Frances, the baker's dozen, came to sit on Mrs. Bangs's lap. Every day he made the same remark on entering the dining room, the children all being seated before he entered, that the bustle of placing them might be