I, the spectator, carefully read my newspaper, thinking, however, that the reality of papa, seeing that he was so much in evidence, would break in upon the imagined situation.

But not so.

Mamma led her baby directly past me to the end of the piazza, to a column in the corner.

"There's papa," said mamma; "now tell him good-morning."-- "Good-morning, papa; I am very well," said baby, bowing low to the column.

"That's good," said mamma, in a _gruff, low voice_, which caused in the real papa a thrill of amused self-consciousness most difficult to contain.