"But what are we to do with the infant?" asked the practical Penelope.
"Do? The first thing to do is to give it some bread and milk! But I daresay Smither's has done that already. I should have liked to do it myself but was afraid to try. I remember so well how I hurt my kitten's mouth, trying to feed it with a teaspoon, and I would'nt make this little beauty cry for all the world. But I know what I will do. I have some cambric for pocket-handkerchiefs upstairs, I shall make it a chemise! Smithers will know how big to make it, or rather how little--the dear wee love!"
"Matilda, dearest, let us be sensible. The child must have a parent, and if we can become attached to it so warmly in a few hours what must the feelings of that parent be to be deprived of her? Ought we not to endeavour to return the child?"
"If the parents valued it so highly why did they leave it here, without asking leave or saying a word? No! They forsook it! I shall always say so. Besides, how can we give it back, even if we would try? How find the discreditable parents? And if we could, what a life we might be giving up the little lamb to!"
"It does not seem right, our keeping it."
"And whom, pray, would you give it up to? Would you give it to the village priest?--to be carried to some convent and brought up for a nun?--fasting, and scrubbing all her life long for the sisterhood? Just look at the tiny hands, like little flowers, and the plump little person. Work and fasting, indeed! Not if I can help it."
"But there is the parson. Naturally we would give it in charge to our own church."
"And how much better would that be? What could an old bachelor do, but make his housekeeper wrap it in a shawl, and carry it to the Protestant Orphan Home? A very good place you know--I have been through it--quite proper for children such as it is meant for--rough little squalling things, quite tough and hardy. They are cared for, and taught and brought up to service. A most useful institution and I shall double my subscription, but it would be no home for our little fairy. Why, it is a blossom! It would wither away in that rough place within a week. And better so, than the desecration of rearing it there! No, no! I shall keep it for my own, if it is not claimed. Of course if we knew its parents, and they were proper people, it would be wrong not to let them know; but even then I would pay them money to let me adopt it. And if they wanted to keep the child, why did they bring it here? It seems nonsense to think about the parents at all."
"I do not like the idea of keeping a stray baby whom nobody knows anything about, Tilly! We should ask advice, at any rate. I think I had better go over to Montreal and ask Mr. Jordan what we should do."
"And have yourself laughed at for a fussy old maid, saddled with a baby! You will make us a laughing stock to all our friends. Just think how ridiculous it sounds! Besides, what can he advise? I know quite well what he will say, and can save you your consultation fee. He will ask you to 'be seated' in his clients' chair--I know, for I visited him several times about my steamboat shares, and it was always the same performance--then he lies back in his own chair and takes his foot upon his knee. After that he takes off his spectacles, wipes them with his handkerchief and puts them on again, rests his elbows on the chair arms, clears his voice and begins, ticking off the items of advice with the fingers of one hand upon those of the other. He makes it very clear, and it sounds most wise; but when you go away and think it over, you will find he has told you just what you might have told yourself, if you had only thought calmly and sensibly about it. There is no witchcraft in Mr. Jordan's advice. Perhaps that is why people say he is a sound lawyer. Remember, too, he is apt to divulge the secrets of her dear friends to his wife. She spoke to me about my steamboat shares, I remember; and congratulated me upon selling at the right time. You know how dearly she loves a good story, and if your dilemma should strike her in an absurd light, she will soon have it known all over the town. Our dear Amelia has a very long tongue."