Baby May was a beautiful picture to look upon as she slept—a beautiful picture, but just a little sad, Nan thought. For the little child seemed friendless and alone in the world, no one, seemingly, knowing where her father and mother were. No one ever to have cared for her save the queer old woman with the green umbrella!
“I wonder where that woman is now,” thought Nan, as she listened to the breathing of Baby May. As Dinah had said, her “breeves” were quieter, now that the medicine had its effect. But she still looked ill, Nan thought, as she tenderly touched one dimpled hand with a finger.
Outside in the yard below the bedroom window Flossie and Freddie could be heard at their play. They made only a little noise—not enough to waken the baby. Nan heard them and smiled, then she almost laughed as she thought of how Sam had fallen into the barrel of water.
The baby stirred uneasily in her sleep and cried faintly. Mrs. Bobbsey came quickly up the stairs and appeared in the room.
“If she is waking I must give her some more medicine,” she said.
Baby May awoke with a pitiful, fretful sick cry, and she wailed more loudly as she became more widely awake. It was hard work to make her take the medicine, but at least she swallowed some, and then she cried harder than ever.
“Poor little dear!” murmured Nan. “She must be terribly sick!”
“Oh, perhaps not,” said Mrs. Bobbsey. “Little babies cry very hard for only a slight illness. The doctor did not seem to think it was anything serious. But he is coming in again.”
“Shall I take her out in the carriage?” offered Nan.
“Oh, no. She must stay in the house,” her mother answered.