Just then Randolph entered with a bundle of shawls, which he reverently and delightedly opened.
All at once his face changed and a look of blank dismay effaced his happy, expectant expression.
“W—why, where is she?” he stammered.
“Randolph Chance!” blazed Nannie, snatching the bundle from him, “I could slap you! You've got her upside down!”
“Oh!” groaned Randolph. “Will it kill her?”
“It may!” said Nannie fiercely. “You've no business with her! Holding her heels up! Poor little thing.”
And she laid her face on the tiny human doll and cooed to it, and soothed it, while the father stood there—big, helpless, remorseful, solicitous, and tender.
“Let me take her,” said Steve quietly, holding out his hands.
Nannie's first impulse was to say “No” and to press the baby closer to her, but something in Steve's face arrested the word she would have spoken, and she placed the precious little charge in his arms.
“I declare, old man, one would think you had had a dozen at least!” said Randolph, looking on admiringly.