In an instant Alfred's arms were about her. He bore her quickly to the bed. “You stay here, my darling,” he said tenderly. “I'll bring baby to you,” and after a solicitous caress he turned toward baby's crib and bent fondly over the little one. “Ah, there's father's man,” he said. “Was he lonesome baby? Oh, goodis g'acious,” then followed an incoherent muttering of baby talk, as he bore the youngster toward Zoie's bed. “Come, my precious,” he called to Zoie, as he sank down on the edge of the bed. “See mother's boy.” “Mother!” shrieked Zoie in horror. It had suddenly dawned upon her that this was the name by which Alfred would no doubt call her for the rest of her life. She almost detested him. But Alfred did not see the look of disgust on Zoie's face. He was wholly absorbed by baby. “What a funny face,” he cooed as he pinched the youngster's cheek. “Great Scott, what a grip,” he cried as the infant's fingers closed around his own. “Will you look at the size of those hands,” he exclaimed. Zoie and Aggie exchanged worried glances; the baby had no doubt inherited his large hands from his mother. “Say, Aggie,” called Alfred, “what are all of these little specks on baby's forehead?” He pointed toward the infant's brow. “One, two, three,” he counted. Zoie was becoming more and more uncomfortable at the close proximity of the little stranger. “Oh,” said Aggie, with affected carelessness as she leaned over Alfred's shoulder and glanced at baby's forehead. “That is just a little rash.” “A rash!” exclaimed Alfred excitedly, “that's dangerous, isn't it? We'd better call up the doctor.” And he rose and started hurriedly toward the telephone, baby in arms. “Don't be silly,” called Zoie, filled with vague alarm at the thought of the family physician's appearance and the explanations that this might entail. Stepping between Alfred and the 'phone, Aggie protested frantically. “You see, Alfred,” she said, “it is better to have the rash OUT, it won't do any harm unless it turns IN.” “He's perfectly well,” declared Zoie, “if you'll only put him in his crib and leave him alone.” Alfred looked down at his charge. “Is that right, son?” he asked, and he tickled the little fellow playfully in the ribs. “I'll tell you what,” he called over his shoulder to Zoie, “he's a fine looking boy.” And then with a mysterious air, he nodded to Aggie to approach. “Whom does he look like?” he asked. Again Zoie sat up in anxiety. Aggie glanced at her, uncertain what answer to make. “I--I hadn't thought,” she stammered weakly. “Go on, go on,” exclaimed the proud young father, “you can't tell me that you can look at that boy and not see the resemblance.” “To whom?” asked Aggie, half fearfully. “Why,” said Alfred, “he's the image of Zoie.” Zoie gazed at the puckered red face in Alfred's arms. “What!” she shrieked in disgust, then fall back on her pillows and drew the lace coverlet over her face.