"Your son's Tom's sons," murmured the grandfather, stopping again to think. "Tom's sons your son's Tom's sons ... Where do I put in the baby?"
Edith awoke in the middle of the night, listening and alert. "What is that?" she said, sitting up in bed.
Florence's voice came from the adjoining room: "Go to sleep, my lamb. It's only the baby."
"Why does it scream like that?"
"It must have got turned round like," explained Florence sleepily.
"Then why don't they turn it straight again?" asked Edith.
"Oh, Miss Edith," replied Florence impatiently, "do go to sleep. When a baby gets 'turned round,' it means that it sleeps all day and screams all night."
And so it did.
II
A gentle blue February was slipping out when March tore in with screaming winds and rushing rains. He pushed the diffident greenness back, and went whistling rudely across the lands. The chilly drenched season stood still. One morning Spring peeped round the corner and dropped a crocus or two and a primrose or two. She whisked off again, with the wind after her, but looked in later between two showers. And suddenly, one day, there she was, enthroned and garlanded. Frost-spangles melted at her feet, and the larks rose.