The old lady had ordered a room with a fire in it. The Boots took the hamper up, and laid it on the hearthrug. The old lady said she and the chambermaid would see to it, and turned him out. By this time, according to the girl’s account, it was roaring like a steam-siren.
“Pretty dear!” says the old lady, fumbling with the cord, “don’t cry; mother’s opening it as fast as she can.” Then she turns to the chambermaid—“If
you open my bag,” says she, “you will find a bottle of milk and some dog-biscuits.”
“Dog-biscuits!” says the chambermaid.
“Yes,” says the old lady, laughing, “my baby loves dog-biscuits.”
The girl opened the bag, and there, sure enough, was a bottle of milk and half a dozen Spratt’s biscuits. She had her back to the old lady, when she heard a sort of a groan and a thud as made her turn round. The old lady was lying stretched dead on the hearthrug—so the chambermaid thought. The kid was sitting up in the hamper yelling the roof off. In her excitement, not knowing what she was doing, she handed it a biscuit, which it snatched at greedily and began sucking.
Then she set to work to slap the old lady back to life again. In about a minute the
poor old soul opened her eyes and looked round. The baby was quiet now, gnawing the dog-biscuit. The old lady looked at the child, then turned and hid her face against the chambermaid’s bosom.
“What is it?” she says, speaking in an awed voice. “The thing in the hamper?”
“It’s a baby, Ma’am,” says the maid.