"Huh!" Drusilla nearly snorted, if the sound she emitted could have been called a snort. "He says jest what you'd suppose he'd say. Send for the police and put them where they belong."
"I presume he is right," said Dr. Eaton a little sadly. "I don't see what else you can do with them; unless—"
"Unless what? If that's all you can say, I needn't have sent for you. I've heard that with every baby that's come. Now I want somethin' different. What's your 'unless' mean?"
"Unless you keep them, Miss Doane."
"How'm I goin' to keep eleven babies and they comin' faster every day?"
"I think you had better head off the rest."
"How can I do that? They jest come and there ain't no one to give 'em to."
"We will put a policeman on guard to watch the gates, and arrest the next one who leaves a bundle or a basket."
"I hate to arrest any one, but—perhaps it's the only thing to do. But that don't help none with the ones I got now. And, Dr. Eaton, they're the cunningest lot of babies! I go round every night to see 'em undressed. I've took more exercise trotting to the different houses where I've put 'em just to look at 'em go to bed—well, I jest can't send 'em to a home."
"Why should you? Now let's talk sensibly, Miss Doane. What are your plans for your own life?"