She pointed at an empty perambulator in the porch.
“I waited an hour here for my friends and husband and the clergyman. My baby was to be christened.” She gasped incoherently. “No one turned up. I went across to the Vicarage. The Vicar was away. I believe I ought to have gone to St. Bride’s. This is St. Paul’s. They didn’t know anything about it. They say people often make that mistake. When I got back the baby was gone. O-o-o-oh!”
“There, there, don’t cry,” said Mr. Pothecary. “Now I’ll go over to St. Bride’s and find out about it.”
“Oh, sir, do you mind waiting here with the perambulator while I go? I want my baby. I want my baby.”
“Why, yes, of course, of course.”
She dashed up the lane and left Mr. Pothecary in charge of an empty perambulator. In fifteen minutes’ time a thick-set young man came hurrying up to the porch. He looked at Edwin and pointing to the perambulator said:
“Is this Mrs. Frank’s or Mrs. Fred’s?”
“I don’t know,” said Edwin, rather testily.
“You don’t know! But you’re old Binns, ain’t you?”