"Certainly, sir," nurse replied somewhat tartly.
Nurse thought the father a great bear. Of course she could not tell him so, but she could and she did show him that an imported English nurse chooses her own rate of speed. She moved slowly toward the door, holding her head with its imposing white cap well up in the air, and looking at Baby as though he were a Crown Prince, instead of the youngest nursling in an American flock of five. While the door was open for nurse and her precious burden to pass through, sounds of boisterous mirth floated into the quiet chamber. It was only the twins, Gay and May, and little Ned—Alice was in the country—at play in the nursery, but one would have said that half the children in New York city were shouting together. The invalid tried to stifle a sigh which did not escape the father's ear.
"Those torments must go, Elinor!" he exclaimed. "That is the only way to ensure your recovery."
"Oh, Edward, how can I live without my dear little ones!" murmured the gentle mother.
Mr. Walcott took his wife's transparent hands in his own and caressed them tenderly. "Do you want our children's mother to have nerves as much out of tune as a cracked bell?" said he.
"No."
"Then they must go to-morrow."
"Not Ned—he is too young to be sent away from me."
"Very well; Ned shall stay—three servants may be able to keep him in order! Now let me see those letters."