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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE.
GIVING A MUSIC LESSON.
Lucy, "dat clis Central Park ovah heah will be where I'll gib de baby his airin'."
"Mammy !" protested Kuth, with scarlet cheeks, while Billy laughed.
The nursery at Central Park West echoed with many delightful sounds one bright morning in June. A warm, sweet breeze blew Mammy Lucy's starched white apron, and fanned the satin bow on her lace cap. On her lap sat an angelic infant, twenty months old, commonly known as "The Lamb."
The Lamb was strenuously objecting to Mammy's high C in "Balm o' Gilead," rendered in rollicking fashion, with sundry jerks and bounces, most unrestful to the infant. His soft, pale gold ringlets fluttered spasmodically at every high note, and his rosebud mouth curled ominously. Finally, his patience exhausted, he kicked his blue socks completely off, and emitted a strenuous roar.
"Angel ob Light!" expostulated Mammy Lucy. "He's gwine to hab a tote in de park, and den he's goin' to meet Miss Betty, he am ! Dere, dere !"
she coaxed, patting -the refractory one's back. "He's Mammy's blessed lamb, so he am," and off she went to prepare for the morning Avalk.
In Central Park the trees were dressed in emerald robes; everywhere were beautiful blossoms, chattering nurses, and a string of cherubs in their go-carts.
"Dis New Yo'k am a mighty classy town, as Mistah Billy says," remarked Mammy Lucy as she passed, keeping a wary eye upon The Lamb. But he was excitedly bouncing up and down, intent upon a young lady who was skipping down the path — his beloved Aunt Betty. She was all in gray, with an elaborate hat that shaded her merry brown eyes.
"Love of my Life !" she shrieked, pouncing upon the delighted Lamb, who, fortunately, submitted gracefully. "The Darling !" she cried, with another squeeze. "Isn't he the image of Billy ?"
"No, Miss Betty," stated Mammy Lucy, firmly, "he am Little Missy ovah again, suah!"
Finally they amicably compromised by agreeing that The Lamb looked like both his parents, and started home