The grandparents looked through their glasses at the little white spot,
and I, with outstretched neck, demonstrated, explained and proved. And
all at once I ran off to the cellar to seek out in the right corner a
bottle of the best.

My son's first tooth. We spoke of his career during dinner, and at
dessert grand-mamma gave us a song.

After this tooth came others, and with them tears and pain, but then when
they were all there how proudly he bit into his slice of bread, how
vigorously he attacked his chop in order to eat "like papa."

"Like papa," do you remember how these two words warm the heart, and how
many transgressions they cause to be forgiven.

My great happiness,--is it yours too?--was to be present at my darling's
awakening. I knew the time. I would gently draw aside the curtains of
his cradle and watch him as I waited.

I usually found him stretched diagonally, lost in the chaos of sheets and
blankets, his legs in the air, his arms crossed above his head. Often
his plump little hand still clutched the toy that had helped to send him
off to sleep, and through his parted lips came the regular murmur of his
soft breathing. The warmth of his sleep had given his cheeks the tint of
a well-ripened peach. His skin was warm, and the perspiration of the
night glittered on his forehead in little imperceptible pearls.

Soon his hand would make a movement; his foot pushed away the blanket,
his whole body stirred, he rubbed an eye, stretched out his arms, and
then his look from under his scarcely raised eyelids would rest on me.