"David dear, have you been up all night with him?" she asked.
"Yes, but Miss Follansbee took care of him. I knew I would be perfectly useless, but then, Baby Paul is Baby Paul, you see, and—and any one has the right to love a baby. You don't object to that, I'm sure, you—you like to have me love him, don't you?"
"I just love to see you so fond of him, Dave," she answered.
"Yes, I felt that you did. And that's why I stayed, because I knew you wouldn't mind. And now I'll go away and—and come back early this evening to find out how you both are and—and I won't bother you. You'll tell me if I do, won't you?"
"Of course, Dave, as soon as you grow troublesome, I'll let you know. I will tell you, when I become tired of you. Oh, Dave dear! You're the kindest and most lovable creature in the world, and—and it's a joy and a blessing to have you near!"
"I'm awfully glad," I told her, "because when I can't see you and Baby Paul, life isn't—it isn't much of a pleasure, you know. And so I'll go off now and have a bath and fix up a little and then——"
"Then you ought to lie down and have a good nap, because you need a rest, and don't come back too soon or I'll know you have been disobedient, Dave."
She was smiling at me, and yet there was a tear hanging on her long lashes. Surely, the emotion of that summoning and of the hurried anxious journey had been hard upon her.
So I went out, just as Frieda came bustling in, monstrously alarmed and immediately made happy by the knowledge that there was, as yet, no danger, and I went home where I met Mrs. Milliken on the doorstep.
"How d'ye do, Mr. Cole," she said. "You look a bit played out and your bed ain't been slept in. At your time o' life you want to take more care of your health. I wanted to say something as I ain't told any one yet. I'm goin' to give up the house soon. My uncle Ambrose he died and has left me a little money, so I'm going to be a lady of leisure now and live with my daughter."