“My mother!” he stammered. “Why—why, she's dead.”
“How's your mother, then?” the doctor asked, turning to Mrs. Fielding.
“Mother is well, thank you.” she said.
“Good!” the doctor cried. “I prescribe one grandmother, one good, old-fashioned grandmother. And see that she isn't any new-fangled affair, either, or I'll turn her out and go out on the street and pick one to suit me.”
Marjorie, pale and big-eyed, looked at him wonderingly.
“An incubator is all right when a mother won't do,” he said, “and a mother is all right when you can't get a grandmother, but hang your committees and your rules! The only good thing about rules is to find exceptions to them. What this baby needs more than anything else is a course of good, old-style grandmothering.”
He buttoned his coat and paused to pinch Marjorie's cheek.
“We know what you want don't we?” he said, and Marjorie smiled a thin, pale smile.
“Want piece candy,” she replied. “Want piece candy,” she replied.