"You won't get anything at all unless you ask prettily!" declared Gwen sternly. "Where are your manners, I should like to know?"
By the end of the morning Avelyn decided that she could thoroughly sympathize with the trying experiences of the old woman who lived in a shoe. She felt in a perfect whirl of babies. They were sweet little souls, but she would have enjoyed them more individually; to wrestle with so many at once was decidedly wearing. At twelve o'clock came dinner. Tiny chairs were placed round low tables, feeders were tied on, and the children were put in their seats and taught to say grace. The nurses brought in an enormous rice pudding, and gave platefuls to those who were old enough to use spoons. Avelyn, sitting in a rocking-chair, fed alternately one small person on her knee and another by her side. Gwen was performing a like service.
When the meal was at length over, the toddlers trotted off to low camp-beds for their midday sleep, leaving a blissful calm in the ward, where the babies were now receiving their share of attention.
"Do you do this two mornings a week?" asked Avelyn as the girls walked home.
"Yes, but the children aren't always as troublesome as they were to-day, and if they get very bad I can call Matron, or a nurse."
"I'd like just the babies alone, if there weren't the toddlers as well to look after. But to have sixteen of them to keep in order is the limit. I feel——"
"You'd rather go on the land?" queried Gwen, with an amused smile.
"Yes, if I can choose my war work, I certainly should!"