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92 compatriots. His father is cramped and frozen with the chill cares of office; his mother is deadened by the gloomy routine of economy and fashion; custom lies upon her with a weight heavy as frost and deep almost as life; the fountains of natural fancy and mirth are frozen over; so Baby lisps his dawn pæans in soft Oriental accents, wakening harmonious echoes among those impulsive and impressionable children of Nature who masque themselves in the black slough of Bearers and Ayahs; and Baby blubbers in Hindustani.

The Ayah and Bearer sit with Baby in the verandah on a little carpet; broken toys and withered flowers lie around. They croon to baby some old-world katabaukalesis; while beauty, born of murmuring sound, passes into Baby's eyes. The squirrel sits chirruping familiarly on the edge of the verandah with his tail in the air and some uncracked pericarp in his uplifted hands, the kite circles aloft and whistles a shrill and mournful note, the sparrows chatter, the crow clears his throat, the minas scream discordantly, and Baby's soft, receptive nature thus absorbs an Indian language.