"Yes; this may not last. Come to-morrow if you are near, though I am sure I won't need you."
As the doctor's hand was on the door he turned:
"If I were you, Mrs. Beaumont, I'd send for those camomile leaves."
But with all her little acts of neighborliness, and her "baking day" and her attempts to find duties to fill the hours, time began to hang heavily upon the hands of active Drusilla. If she had been of a higher station in life she would have said that she was bored or was suffering from that general complaint of the rich—"enuyee."
Here Providence stepped in. One morning when she was dressing she heard a peculiar little wailing cry. She listened. The cry was repeated. She listened again, but could not locate the sound. Then, thinking she might be mistaken, she continued with her dressing; but again that piercing wail was borne to her ears. She opened her window and then she heard it distinctly—a baby's cry. She listened in amazement. There was no baby on the place except the gardener's, and his cottage was too far from the big house to have his children's wails heard in that place given over to aristocratic quiet. Drusilla tried to see around the comer of the house, but she could not; so she rang for Jeanne.
"Jane, I heard a baby cry. Go and find out where it is," she said.
Jeanne was gone a long time, it seemed to Drusilla; and then she returned, with big frightened eyes, followed by the butler carrying a large basket. He stopped at the door.
"Come in, James. What you standing there for? What you got?"
Just then the wailing cry came from the basket, and Drusilla dropped the brush in her hand.
"For the land's sake, what's in the basket? Come here!"