James gingerly deposited the basket upon a chair.
"It's a baby, ma'am—a live baby."
"Well, upon my soul! Of course it is! You wouldn't expect it to not be alive. Let's see it."
She went over to the basket and looked down at the lively little bundle that seemed to be protesting in its feeble way against the injustice of the world in leaving it at a chance doorstep. Drusilla looked at it admiringly.
"Why, ain't it cunning, the pore little thing! It's done up warm. How'd it get here?"
"I don't know, ma'am. It must 'a' been left early this morning after the gates was opened. I'll ask the gardeners if they saw any one come in."
"Never mind now, James. Here's a letter. It'll tell us all about it. Where are my glasses, Jane?"
Drusilla put on her glasses and read the inscription on the letter.
"Miss Drusilla Doane. Well, they know my name."
She tore open the envelope and read aloud: