“It’s a shame,” said Nan, “to put this dear little mite in a horrid old asylum. I think I shall adopt her myself.”
Little Rosabel had begun to grow restless, and suddenly without a word of warning she began to cry lustily, and not a quiet well-conducted cry either, but with ear-splitting shrieks and yells, indicative of great discomfort of some sort.
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Nan, abruptly. “I don’t want to adopt any such noisy young person as that. Here, take her, Patty, she’s your property.”
Patty took the baby, and carried her into the house, fearing that passers-by would think they must be torturing the child to make her scream like that.
Into the dining-room went Patty, and on to the kitchen, where she announced to the astonished cook that she wanted some milk for the baby and she wanted it quick.
“Is there company for dinner, Miss Patty?” asked the cook, not understanding how a baby could have arrived as an only guest.
“Only this one,” said Patty, laughing, “what do you think she ought to eat?”
“Bread and milk,” said the cook, looking at the child with a judicial air.
“All right, Kate, fix her some, won’t you?”
In a few moments Patty was feeding Rosabel bread and milk, which the child ate eagerly.