There was that bothersome kitten again. He could hear it mewing away somewhere. It did not sound so loud as in the garden, so perhaps it would not matter. He felt very much inclined to steal upstairs upon tiptoe and see if Maude were stirring yet. After all, if Jemima, or whoever it was, could go clumping about in heavy boots over his head, there was no fear that he could do any harm. And yet she had said that she would ring or send word the moment she could see him, and so perhaps he had better wait where he was. He put his head out of the window and cried ‘Shoo!’ into the laurel bushes several times. Then he sat in the armchair with his back to the door. Steps came heavily along the hall, and he saw dimly with the back corner of his eye that some one was in the doorway carrying something. He thought that really Harrison might have brought the bulbs in more quietly, and so he treated him with some coldness, and did not turn round to him. ‘Put it in the out-house,’ said he. ‘Why the out-house?’ ‘We keep them there. But you can put it under the sideboard, or in the coal-scuttle, or where you like as long as you don’t make any more noise.’ ‘Why, surely, Crosse—’ But Frank suddenly sprang out of his chair. ‘I’m blessed if that infernal kitten isn’t somewhere in the room!’ And there when he turned was the grim, kindly face of old Doctor Jordan facing him. He carried in the crook of his arm a brown shawl with something round and small muffled up in it. There was one slit in front, and through this came a fist about the size of a marble, the thumb doubled under the tiny fingers, and the whole limb giving circular waves, as if the owner were cheering lustily at his own successful arrival. ‘Here am I, good people, hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!’ cried the waving hand. Then as the slit in the shawl widened Frank saw that behind the energetic fist there was a huge open mouth, a little button of a nose, and two eyes which were so resolutely screwed up that it seemed as if the owner had made a resolution never under any circumstances to take the least notice of this new world into which it had been transported. Frank dropped his pipe and stood staring at this apparition. ‘What! What’s that?’ ‘The baby!’ ‘Baby? Whose baby?’ ‘Your baby, of course.’ ‘My baby! Where—where did you get it?’ Doctor Jordan burst out laughing. ‘You are like a man who has just been wakened out of his sleep,’ said he. ‘Why, Crosse, your wife has been bad all day, but she’s all right now, and here’s your son and heir—a finer lad of the age I never saw—fighting weight about seven pounds.’