“Oh, yes, indeed,” answered his wife, casting a nervous glance round the room. “She won’t hear anything about that. And I do hope, if she’s handy with the baby, that she’ll stay. It would be such a comfort. Only I wish she wasn’t so small.”
At this moment the door opened, and, after some hoarsely encouraging whispers from Mrs Shivers, who remained unseen, the small form of Biddy herself appeared. She had put on a white apron and a large cap; there was a great deal of cap and apron and very little of Biddy, and being nervous, she stood with her arms hanging forward in rather a helpless way which did not impress Mrs Roy favourably. Fortunately for Biddy, however, the baby, wakened just then by the noise of the door, began to cry, and its mother stooped over the cradle and lifted the child in her arms. Biddy’s shyness vanished. The cry of a baby was to her as the sound of trumpets is to a war-horse. She advanced eagerly and stood close to her mistress.
“The baby’s not at all well to-night,” said Mrs Roy appealingly. “She’s covered with tiny red spots, and so feverish. I’m expecting the doctor every minute.”
Biddy came still nearer, and examined the small face attentively.
“Lor’! Mum,” she exclaimed triumphantly, “you’ve no call to mind about that. That’s only thrush, that is. Three of ourn had it, and did beautiful. She’s bound to be a bit fretful, but she won’t come to no harm, so long as you keep her warm.”
The confidence with which Biddy spoke, and the manner in which she shortly afterwards took the baby in her arms, and soothed it to sleep with a proper rocking movement of one foot, comforted Mrs Roy immensely. And when the doctor came he confirmed Biddy’s opinion. It was thrush. After that Mrs Roy went to bed happier in her mind than she had been for weeks. Though small, her new nurse-maid would evidently prove a support and a treasure; the only thing to be questioned now was—would she stay?