Casey turned on me a face that was like a smiling full moon. "'Tis lucky th' child is to have ye for a friend. But she'll be a raysponsibil'ty," he reminded me, "and an expinse."
I kissed the tiny hand that clung to mine. "That won't worry me," I declared. "Why, do you know, Casey"—I drew the soft little body closer to me—"I feel that if I worked for her a thousand years I could never make up to this baby for that horrible moment when I turned her adrift again—after she had found me."
Two hours later my waif of the fog, having been fed and tubbed and tucked into one of my nightgowns, reposed in my bed, and, still beatifically clutching a cookie, sank into a restful slumber. My maid, a "settled" Norwegian who had been with me for two years, had welcomed her with hospitable rapture. A doctor had pronounced her in excellent physical condition. A trained nurse, hastily summoned to supervise her bath, her supper, and her general welfare, had already drawn up an impressive plan indicating the broad highway of hygienic infant living. Now, for the dozenth time, we were examining a scrap of paper which I had found in a tiny bag around the child's neck when I undressed her. It bore a brief message written in a wavering, foreign hand:
Maria Annunciata Zamati
3½ years old
Parents dead. No relations. Be good to her and God will be good to you.
Besides this in the little bag was a narrow gold band, wrapped in a bit of paper that read:
Her mother's wedding-ring.
Broodingly I hung over the short but poignant record. "Maria Annunciata," I repeated. "What a beautiful name! Three and a half years old! What an adorable age! No relations. No one can ever take her from us! I shall be her godmother and her best friend, whoever adopts her. And I'll keep her till the right mother comes for her, if it takes the rest of my life."
The doctor laughed and bade us good night, after a final approving look at the sleeping baby in the big bed. The trained nurse departed with evident reluctance for her room.
The telephone beside my bed clicked warningly, then tinkled. As I took up the receiver a familiar voice came to me over the wire.