He is baby brother Andrew, whom Eliza first happily holds and then wants to amuse--with her fire engine (""too noisy,"" says her mother), or her favorite doll (""too big,"" says her father), or her pet turtle--which her mother pronounces ""too slimy."" ""My turtle is not slimy,"" Elizabeth says; but she retreats anyhow. And every time she wants to play with the baby, she's thwarted--unthinkingly but not unkindly--by her mother or father (who, incidentally, very distinctly share the baby-tending chores). Then one day, when both are occupied, Eliza hears the baby cry, quiets him, climbs into his crib, and--in one of the nicest such sequences we've seen--plays baby games with him and gets him to giggle. And when her mother turns up, not only do we hear that ""Andrew likes me""--but, ""I told you Mama. . . Andrew just wanted to play with me."" The pictures, in muted browns and blues, have the same low-key warmth and some thoughtful details besides--the thwarted Eliza holding her doll like a baby, the exultant Eliza wearing her mother's big floppy garden hat.