The novelty of the first-born, a boy, had hindered complete enjoyment, and with him, as with the four girls who followed close after, it was a matter of such supreme importance that all the small rules which governed the infantile world should be strictly observed.
Even as a young woman Mrs. Nichols was a serious and conscientious mother, who read all the literature bearing on family health and education. The infants were trained with adamantine firmness from their birth, and as they grew older Mrs. Nichols attended kindergarten meetings where the child was meditated upon with deep graspings of the intellect, and also painstakingly sat through recitations mixed with exasperating calisthenics in the higher schools. In fine, she so ordered her days that when pussy-cats were under discussion in the morning classes to which Ethel and Edith belonged, she could still lead their thoughts intelligently pussywards in the afternoon, besides holding the fourteen-year-old Stan to that hour’s exercise in spelling which was also like an exercise in breaking stone.
To the higher rule Quintilia promised from the first to be an exception. She made her own laws. When she lifted her little arms to be “taken up” it was not in the heart of mortal to resist her; food was given her when she cried for it, and for the life of her Mrs. Nichols could not always combat the temptation to hold the dear little clinging form in her arms, with the damp head and its thistledown curls nestling on her shoulder, and rock and sing her baby to sleep in the old-fashioned way.
“No, I don’t think she’s any worse.” Mr. Nichols’s wife had met him at the door with the peaceful kiss of possession before reassuring him for the non-appearance of Quintilia. She was a woman of medium height, rather stout, with somewhat large features, a fresh complexion, thick black hair, brown eyes, and an expression that was at once pleasant and capable. The heart of her husband trusted in her implicitly, and her tone was a relief to him.
“What did the doctor say?”
“He thinks that it’s only a cold, but she must be kept very quiet. The nurse came this afternoon, but she doesn’t seem very—What is it, Miss Candy?”
Mr. Nichols looked up at the stairs, and his tense gaze involuntarily softened. A pretty girl in a blue and white cambric uniform appears to most men as an angel of healing. This one had large and appealing eyes, and little brown fuzzy curls in front under her white cap. There was a slip of paper in the hand held forward.
“Would you kindly have this prescription filled at once? I forgot it when you sent out last.”
“Certainly,” said Mr. Nichols with alacrity. “I’ve got my coat on. I’ll go for it now.”
“Oh, thank you! And would you mind bringing home some alcohol? I think there ought to be some in the house.”