asn't enough of it to
take hold of. Oh, suppose she let it slip into the water--it was so
wobbly! If it would only stop howling like that! How could such a tiny
morsel make such an enormous noise. Its shrieks could be heard over
Ingleside from cellar to attic.

"Am I really hurting it much, Susan, do you suppose?" she asked
piteously.

"No, dearie. Most new babies hate like poison to be washed. You are
real knacky for a beginner. Keep your hand under its back, whatever you
do, and keep cool."

Keep cool! Rilla was oozing perspiration at every pore. When the baby
was dried and dressed and temporarily quieted with another bottle she
was as limp as a rag.

"What must I do with it tonight, Susan?"

A baby by day was dreadful enough; a baby by night was unthinkable.

"Set the basket on a chair by your bed and keep it covered. You will
have to feed it once or twice in the night, so you would better take
the oil heater upstairs. If you cannot manage it call me and I will go,
doctor or no doctor."

"But, Susan, if it cries?"

The baby, however, did not cry. It was surprisingly good--perhaps
because its poor little stomach was filled with proper food. It slept
most of the night but Rilla did not. She was afraid to go to sleep for
fear something would happen to the baby. She prepared its three o'clock
ration with a grim determination that she would not call Susan. Oh, was
she dreaming? Was it really she, Rilla Blythe, who had got into this
absurd predicament? She did not care if the Germans were near
Paris--she did not care if they were in Paris--if only the baby
wouldn't cry or choke or smother or have convulsions. Babies did have
convulsions, didn't they? Oh, why had she forgotten to ask Susan what
she must do if the baby had convulsions? She reflected rather bitterly
that father was very considerate of mother's and Susan's health, but
what about hers? Did he think she could continue to exist if she never
got any sleep? But she was not going to back down now--not she. She
would look after this detestable little animal if it killed her. She
would get a book on baby hygiene and be beholden to nobody. She would
never go to father for advice--she wouldn't bother mother--and she
would only condescend to Susan in dire extremity. They would all see!

Thus it came about that Mrs. Blythe, when she returned home two nights
later and asked Susan where Rilla was, was electrified by Susan's
composed reply.

"She's upstairs, Mr