The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. \" Obediently, Lucia rose from her seated position on the bed and approached the baby and the mother in wonderment. "In with him!" "Ay—ay, yer hon'r," cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand.
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