ng on invisible
wires, and quivering with life and glee, was ever other than a beauty?
The whole house was in commotion in honor of the fact that Master Pliny
L. Hastings, only son and heir of the great Pliny Hastings, Senior, of
Hastings' Hall, had "laughed and cried, and nodded and winked," through
the entire space of three hundred and sixty-five days and nights, and
actually reached the first anniversary of his birthday.
A remarkable boy was Pliny Hastings. He didn't know yet that his father
was a millionaire, but he must have surmised it, for, as far back as he
could remember, his bits of sleeves had been looped with real pearls;
rosewood and lace and silk and down had united to make his tiny bed; he
had bitten his first tooth through on a sphere of solid gold--and all
the wonderful and improbable contrivances for royal babyhood that could
be bought or imagined, met together in that grand house on the Avenue
fo-
r this treasured bit of humanity.
On this particular day baby was out in all his glory; he had made the
circuit of the great parlors, stopping on his way to be tossed toward
the ceiling, in the arms of first one uncle and then another. He had
been kissed and cuddled by all the aunties and cousins, until his cheeks
were rosy with triumph; and, finally, he had been carried, shouting
with glee, high up on his father's shoulder, down to the dining-room,
and occupied the seat of honor at the long table, where he crowed, and
laughed, and clapped his hands over every plum that found its way into
his dainty mouth. This conduct was interspersed, however, by sundry
dives and screams after the coffee urn and the ice pitcher, and various
unattainable things--for there were unattainable things, even for Pliny
Hastings. Oh, the times and times in his young life that he had cried
for the beautiful round moon, and got it not! And e-