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you won't let him out of your sight? He's that quick at getting into mischief, even though he's only crawling."

"I promise," Hugh said. She gave Lennie a pat, told him to be a good boy, and looked at Hugh gratefully.

"You're a real good kid. I won't forget it." She yawned heavily. "Bring him to me if he bothers you."

Hugh did not find the baby a bother. He found something very pleasant in the clinging of the soft little hands, the gurgles of joy that greeted his hesitating attempts at play—he had little notion of how to amuse a baby, so he adopted some of the methods he had seen Pazo use with the lion-cubs, and found them remarkably successful. To have a finger poked into his soft side excited emotions of delight in the Crowe baby: to be rolled on his back and tickled threw him into an ecstasy of fat chuckles. "I believe I could train you for the ring, old man," said Hugh, hopefully.

An hour went by happily. Then the baby grew restless and showed signs of departing good humor.

"Don't you start crying," Hugh warned him. "If you wake your mother "

The baby grasped the idea immediately. He puckered up his face and bellowed—and Hugh promptly clapped a hand over his mouth. This heroic treatment slightly lessened the sound, but produced symptoms of suffocation in the victim. Hugh doubted its success. So he picked up his charge—who at once ceased to cry, and emitted gurgles of victory—and carried him off.

The Crowe baby was small, light and muscular. To