“Mrs. Ashe! what am I to think of this extraordinary proceeding?”
Mrs. Ames, portentous in flannel gown and curl-papers, confronted the affrighted culprit. Through the open door and down the stairway came the wail of the hungry baby.
“I only came down for her brother,” tremblingly clutching her book, and letting the portfolio slide to the floor. “I felt so strong! so well! I will run up to the little sister now—at once. Poor little Nest! she wants me, I suppose?”
Mrs. Gamp’s severe eyes softened into anxiety. She spoke soothingly, in passing her powerful arm around the shaking form.
“Yes, dear. She wants mamma. Lean on me and don’t hurry too much. The stairs are a steep climb.”
Upon the upper landing Agnes, stopping to breathe, smiled piteously into the compassionate face.
“You see”—showing a corner of the volume hidden in the folds of her gown—“this is as much my baby as the other one, and I knew he was downstairs all alone. You will let me keep him—won’t you?”
“Certainly, dear! We’ll put him to bed with you, right under your pillow.”
“And not a word to Barton?” Putting her lips close to the other’s ear, she whispered fearfully—“You know he would turn us both out into the street if he knew.”
“He shan’t hear a lisp from me!” asseverated the nurse stoutly. “We’ll have the two of you sound asleep before he comes in.”