A phrase slipped from she knew not where into her mind. She concluded with it: “and proving property.” She signed her own name and under it wrote, “Daughter of Jerome Westabrook, financier.”
Her mind made up, Maida worked quickly. Holding the baby in her arms, she walked swiftly down the trail to the canoe. Here a problem presented itself.
She could not hold the baby in her arms, nor could she let the hot sun of that hot August day pour on the little head. After a great deal of difficulty and some maneuvering, she managed to stand up some thickly-leaved branches so that they made a shade. She placed the baby on one of the canoe cushions in its shadow; stepped into the canoe.
Never had Maida paddled so carefully or so well. On the other side, she tethered the canoe; lifted the baby out. She had cried all the way across the lake and was still crying fitfully.
“Somebody may come and break the canoe,” Maida surmised swiftly, “but I can’t wait to put it away.” She hurried in the direction of the Little House. “What a surprise I’ve got for them,” her thoughts ran. She was toiling along slowly now, for by this time, the baby had grown heavy as lead. Maida had to stop many times to rest her arms. Her back ached as though it would break. “They’ll all want to keep this baby forever and I wish we could.”
But the surprise was not all for the others, nor indeed much as compared with their surprise for Maida. For as Maida neared the house, Rosie came flying down the path. Maida saw that her face was white and that great tears were pouring down her cheeks.
“Oh, Maida,” she sobbed, “where have you been? We’ve been looking for you everywhere. A most terrible thing has happened. Poor Mrs. Dore”—she burst for an instant into uncontrollable sobbing; then composed herself, “—fell down the cellar stairs and broke her leg. We’ve had a dreadful time—Where did you get that baby?”
“In a cave,” Maida answered faintly. “Will you carry her, Rosie, I’m so tired. Go on quickly. Tell me all about it—”
Rosie took the baby into her expert arms; continued. “Well, Arthur called up the Satuit doctor and he came with an ambulance and they’ve taken her to the Satuit Center hospital. Granny Flynn had to go with her—and we’re all alone. We’ll have to run the house ourselves until Granny can get back. Poor Dicky feels dreadful and now we’ve got this baby on our hands. Everything happens at once, doesn’t it? Gracious, I’ll have to give this poor little thing something to eat right off. That’s a hungry cry.”