Louis vuitton Netherlands.
“I never asked before–not that it matters . . . now. But I waited
for you to tell me. Was it . . . ?”
He shook his head.
“No; it was a girl. A perfect little girl. Only . . . it was too
She pressed his hand, and almost it was she that sympathized with
him in his affliction.
“I never told you, Billy–you were so set on a boy; but I
planned, just the same, if it was a girl, to call her Daisy. You
remember, that was my mother’s name.”
He nodded his approbation.
“Say, Saxon, you know I did want a boy like the very dickens . . .
well, I don’t care now. I think I’m set just as hard on a girl,
an’, well, here’s hopin’ the next will be called . . . you wouldn’t
mind, would you?”
“If we called it the same name, Daisy?”
“Oh, Billy! I was thinking the very same thing.”
Then his face grew stern as he went on.
“Only there ain’t goin’ to be a next. I didn’t know what havin’