it is
likely that my competency had been justifiably suspected. I dared not
move the chair, fearing to make a noise, and could see nothing of the
white arms or the Murillo face. Suddenly, an orgy of steam-whistling
began, rousing my apprehensions while recalling workers to their
factories. It proved but a false alarm and stillness prevailed in the
top-floor back, for at least three minutes, when the dreaded wail
arose.

"Please, Eulalie," came a husky, low voice. "Give me my baby."

It was then that my already damp brow began to stream. She wanted her
baby and wouldn't be happy till she got it. My duty, I realized, was to
go to the sofa and pick up the animated and noisy parcel. It would then
have to be conveyed to the bed! Nervously, I prepared to obey.

"Eulalie has gone out for a few minutes," I explained, in the subdued
tones I deemed suitable to a sickroom. "Here--here is the bundle. I
think it wriggles."

"Thank you ever so much and--and please turn him the other way--yes,
those are the feet. And would you pull up the shade a little bit, I
think I would have more air."

I raised the thing, letting in a flood of light, and feasted my eyes in
utter liberty. Poor child, she must have a cold, for she suffers from
hoarseness. She paid little more heed to me than did the ancient Roman
ladies to the slaves they refused to recognize as men. I realized my
small importance when she tenderly pushed aside the little folds and
revealed diminutive features over which she sighed, contentedly, while I
drew my chair a little nearer to the bed. Since a Murillo was on free
exhibition, I might as well gaze upon it and admire. That faint little
wailing had stopped at once.

"Don't you think he is ever so good and well-behaved?" she asked me,
after a while.

I assented, forbearing to tell her that his existence had not yet been
sufficiently long to prove him entirely free from all taint of original
sin.

"It's such a comfort," she assured me.

Already, by the saintly grace of a mother's heart, she was endowing her
offspring with all the virtues. The wondrous optics of motherhood
revealed beauty, wisdom, good intent, the promise of great things to
come, all concentrated in this tabloid form of man. So mote it be!

The tiny head rested on her outstretched rounded arm and she closed her
eyes once more. The plentiful chestnut hair had been braided tight and
pinned at the top of her head.

"I wish Gordon McGrath could see he