"I must say you take to it like a duck to water," acknowledged Mrs. West in conciliatory accents. "Some women are just as unhandy with a baby as a man. Sophia Warren's one. Once or twice I've seen her holding that Newell baby that lives next door, and she looked as stiff and scared as if she was setting for her photograph."
She leaned forward to watch the frolicsome children from the window. "They're real nice-looking, Persis, I will say that. One, two, three and the baby's four. Somebody said five."
With a start Persis recalled the suspicious peace which for some time past had pervaded the establishment. "There's another," she said, "too little for school. Mary! Mary, do you know where Celia is?"
Mary approached. Her consciousness of being a bearer of important tidings communicated itself in some indefinable fashion to the other women. They looked up, alert on the instant.
"Celia's setting up in Mr. Joel's room." Mary gave her great news deliberately as if to enjoy the full flavor.
Persis started to her feet. Mrs. West raised her hands with an eloquent gesture.
"Has he got one of his bad spells?" she demanded. "And that child in his room. Well, fools rush—"
"She's playing he's her little boy," explained Mary, making the most of the sensation of being an actor in a real drama. "She fed him his soup and slopped him, but he took me up sharp when I tried to stop her. He acts as if she's got him clean bewitched."
"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. West, as Persis looked at her dumbly. "I never expected to live to see that Scripture fulfilled. The wolf and lamb lying down together and a weaned child in a cockatrice's den."
"Are you sure he wasn't angry?" asked Persis, still a little pale and doubtful.