In Which a Long Name is Bestowed Upon a Beautiful Baby; and in Which a Letter in a Long Envelope Brings Freedom to Mary

The christening of Constance's baby brought together a group of
feminine personalities, which, to one possessed with imagination, might
have stood for the evil and beneficent fairies of the old story books.

The little Mary-Constance Ballard Richardson, in spite of the dignity
of her hyphenated name, was a wee morsel. Swathed in fine linen, she
showed to the unprejudiced eye no signs of great beauty. With a
wrinkly-red skin, a funny round nose, a toothless mouth--she was like
every other normal baby of her age, but to her family and friends she
was a rare and unmatched object.

Even Aunt Frances succumbed to her charms. "I must say," she remarked
to Delilah Jeliffe, as they bent over the bassinet, "that she is
remarkable for her age."

Delilah shrugged. "I'm not fond of them. They're so red and squirmy."

Leila protested hotly. "Delilah, she's lovely--such little perfect
hands."

"Bird's claws!"

Mary took up the chant. "Her skin's like a rose leaf."

And Grace: "Her hair is going to be gold, like her mother's."

"Hair?" Delilah's tone was incredulous. "She hasn't any."

Aunt Frances expertly turned the small morsel on its back. "What do
you call that?" she demanded, indignantly.

Above the fat crease of the baby's neck stuck out a little feathery
duck's-tail curl--bright as a sunbeam.

"What do you call that?" came the chorus of worshipers.