Deedee looked up at me as sweet as a little angel.
“Papa, laim,” she says.
“No!” says I, “No laim, Deedee. You lie down and go to sleep like a good
girl. Papa'll fix your pillow nice.”
I pounded up her pillow, and turned it over, and pulled the sheets out
straight. Then I took the baby and laid her down gentle. She smiled and
cuddled into the pillow.
“Oh, what a nice bed!” I says. “Ain't it a nice bed, Deedee?”
“Nice bed,” she allowed.
“Will I cover your feet?” I says.
“Feet cov,” she _says_, eager.
So I spread the sheet up over her feet.
“Shut little eyes,” I says in warning, but as gentle as you please, and
she shut up her eyes so tight her eyelids wrinkled.
“Now, good night, Deedee,” I says.
“'Night, pa--pa!” she coos.
I stole out of the room as quiet as I knowed how, and dropped cautious
into my chair. I leaned back and smiled sort of grim. “That shows,” I
thinks, “that women ain't got the right kind of tact to handle a kid, or
else they 've got catchin' nerves. It shows how easy a man can--”
“Papa, laim!”
Deedee's clear little voice just cut what I was thinkin' into two
pieces. I was into that bedroom in about two steps. Deedee was standin'
up in her crib.
“Papa, laim?” she says, sort of anxious.
“No!” I says, stern in earnest. “No laim!”
“Papa, laim!” she demands.
“No!” I says, in a way that froze her smile right where it was. She
looked up at me doubtful-like, her little pink and white chin puckered
up all ready to cry.
“Papa, laim, laim!” she pleaded.