"I'm sent away," she cried tragically; "dismissed, disgraced; I don't know what aunt will say."
"What in the world has occurred?" Mr. Wycherly said quietly. "Take off that wet macintosh; look what a pool it's making. Get up, you poor, silly child; there, that's better—now come and sit on my knee and tell me exactly what happened."
Jane-Anne flung herself upon Mr. Wycherly, buried her wet face in his neck and sobbed out:
"I read Punch on the top of the baby."
At this most unexpected revelation Mr. Wycherly fairly jumped.
"You mean you sat on the baby?" he cried, aghast.
"No, it was Punch sat on the baby and it didn't like it. It yelled."
"Do explain—your statements are so confused—what do you mean?"
"I mean," she continued, "I opened Punch on the baby and read it—it was only a minute, but I was so interested, and I've heard them say that it doesn't hurt to let a healthy baby cry for a minute—and all the nurses read, I've seen them hundreds of times; but they heard and came flying all in a hurry and were so cross, and Mrs. Cox said I needn't ever come back."
It was well that Jane-Anne couldn't see Mr. Wycherly's face, which was lighted up by a smile of immense satisfaction; but what he said sounded very grave.