“It’s hungry!” announced Cricket, with the air of one discovering America. “What do you s’pose it can eat, ’Liza?”
“’Most anything it can get, I rather guess,” said ’Liza. “That kind generally does, and is glad to get it, too.”
“She isn’t ‘that kind,’” said Cricket indignantly, resenting the tone. “Come, baby; we’ll go down-stairs and get some bread and milk. You ’ittle tunnin’ sing!” as the baby stopped in its howl as suddenly as it had begun, and trotted away contentedly with the girls.
Cook duly exclaimed over “the find,” but she reiterated the advice of the cross maid, and recommended them to take the baby to the police station.
“Why does everybody want to send this poor little mite to the police station?” cried Eunice. “It hasn’t done a thing, only got lost, and prob’ly it didn’t want to do that; and everybody wants to shut it up in a big, black cell. Papa can advertise it when he gets home, if he likes, and if anybody comes for it they can have it. If no one does come, we’ll keep you ourselves; won’t we, baby? Drink the milk, now.”
“Wish we knew its name,” said Cricket.
“Let’s name it something ourselves,” suggested Eunice.
“To be sure. Don’t you know when Pharaoh’s daughter found Moses she named him Moses, herself? Oh, Eunice, let’s call her Mosina!”
“Oh, Cricket, how lovely! Just the thing! We didn’t find her in the bulrushes, but we did find her on some steps. Oh, you darling Mosina! I hope your mother won’t come for you!”
When the new arrival had finished her luncheon, and the children had had theirs, they carried Mosina off to their room. Zaidie and Helen immediately came toiling up from the nursery, to help entertain their guest. Fortunately she was not at all shy, and jabbered and gurgled in her unintelligible baby talk, showing the greatest readiness to be amused.