I tell you. He isn't one bit of a Henshaw baby! The
Henshaw babies are always _pretty_ ones. They have more hair, and they
look--well, different."

Billy gave a low cry, and struggled to her feet.

"Oh, no," spoke up Kate, in answer to another indistinct something from
the nurse. "I don't think he's near as pretty as the twins. Of
course the twins are a good deal older, but they have such a _bright_
look,--and they did have, from the very first. I saw it in their tiniest
baby pictures. But this baby--"

"_This_ baby is _mine_, please," cut in a tremulous, but resolute voice;
and Mrs. Hartwell turned to confront Bertram, Jr.'s mother, manifestly
weak and trembling, but no less manifestly blazing-eyed and determined.

"Why, Billy!" expostulated Mrs. Hartwell, as Billy stumbled forward and
snatched the child into her arms.

"Perhaps he doesn't look like the Henshaw babies. Perhaps he isn't as
pretty as the twins. Perhaps he hasn't much hair, and does have a snub
nose. He's my baby just the same, and I shall not stay calmly by and see
him abused! Besides, _I_ think he's prettier than the twins ever thought
of being; and he's got all the hair I want him to have, and his nose
is just exactly what a baby's nose ought to be!" And, with a superb
gesture, Billy turned and bore the baby away.

CHAPTER XXIII. BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY

When the doctor heard from the nurse of Mrs. Hartwell's visit and what
had come of it, he only gave a discreet smile, as befitted himself and
the occasion; but to his wife privately, that night, the doctor said,
when he had finished telling the story:

"And I couldn't have prescribed a better pill if I'd tried!"

"_Pill_--Mrs. Hartwell! Oh, Harold," reproved the doctor's wife, mildly.

But the doctor only chuckled the more, and said:

"You wait and see."

If Billy's friends were worried before because of her lassitude and lack
of ambition, they were almost as worried now over her amazing alertness
and insistent activity. Day by day, almost hour by hour, she seemed to
gain in strength; and every bit she acquired she promptly tested almost
to the breaking point, so plainly eager was she to be well and strong.
And always, from morning until night, and again from night until
morning, the pivot of her existence, around which swung all thoughts,
words, actions, and plans, was the sturdy little plump-cheeked,
firm-fleshed atom of humanity known as Bertram, Jr. Even Aunt Han