Around the house, along the driveway toward the stable, down a little path to where the tall dahlias nodded; across the lawn to the open space where the new moon spread its sheen, then toward the shrubbery and the hedge.
Flossie saw the gleam of the bright lantern through the bushes, and huddled closer to the little shrubs. She believed that it was the butler who carried the lantern, and that he had been sent to capture the baby.
“Hush, hush—sh—sh!” she whispered, patting its shoulder gently.
It had no idea of crying, but she was so afraid that it might, and thus tell where they were hiding. It happened that the baby was sleepy, and snug and warm in Flossie's loving arms, it was quite content.
Nearer, and yet nearer came the light! Now it was going farther from her,—now returning, and now, oh, she must hold her breath!
A firm step trampled the underbrush, the lantern was swung high, and the two runaways were discovered. With a sob Flossie clasped the infant closer, hiding its face with her own.
“You sha'n't have this baby!” she cried, “for I won't let you! Nobody shall touch my Uncle Harry's baby; nobody's going to quantine her. I'm 'fraid out here, but I'll stay to take care of his own baby!”
“Flossie! Flossie, little girl, who has frightened you? Why are you hiding out here with the baby?”
“Go away!” she cried, holding the baby closer, “they've sent you to find us, but you don't know that they're going to quantine this baby, but I'll never let them do it.”
“Flossie, Flossie, you're frightened, listen to me.”