Drusilla looked at him inquiringly.
"What did you say? Telephone the police? Why?"
"I will ask them to call and take the child in charge."
"Why, what's the baby done?"
"Nothing, of course; but they will understand how to dispose of it."
"What'll they do with it?"
"They will get into connection with the proper authorities, and if the mother cannot be found, they will have the child committed to some institution."
"Some institution. What kind of an institution?"
"An orphan asylum—a home for waifs of this kind."
Drusilla caught the word "home" and she sat up so suddenly that the bottle fell to the floor and the blue eyes opened and looked into Drusilla's face appealingly and the little wail arose again. Drusilla bent over and picked up the bottle, and when she arose her eyes were hard and two bright spots colored her wrinkled cheeks.