“Alfred!” called Zoie sharply. She was half out of bed in her anxiety. “You'll do no such thing. 'Phone down to the boy to send her away. She's crazy.” “Oh,” said Alfred, “then she's been here before? Who is she?” “Who is she?” answered Zoie, trying to gain time for a new inspiration. “Why, she's--she's----” her face lit up with satisfaction--the idea had arrived. “She's the nurse,” she concluded emphatically. “The nurse?” repeated Alfred, a bit confused. “Yes,” answered Zoie, pretending to be annoyed with his dull memory. “She's the one I told you about, the one I had to discharge.” “Oh,” said Alfred, with the relief of sudden comprehension; “the crazy one?” Aggie and Zoie nodded their heads and smiled at him tolerantly, then Zoie continued to elaborate. “You see,” she said, “the poor creature was so insane about little Jimmy that I couldn't go near the child.” “What!” exclaimed Alfred in a mighty rage. “I'll soon tell the boy what to do with her,” he declared, and he rushed to the 'phone. Barely had Alfred taken the receiver from the hook when the outer door was heard to bang. Before he could speak a distracted young woman, whose excitable manner bespoke her foreign origin, swept through the door without seeing him and hurled herself at the unsuspecting Zoie. The woman's black hair was dishevelled, and her large shawl had fallen from her shoulders. To Jimmy, who was crouching behind an armchair, she seemed a giantess. “My baby!” cried the frenzied mother, with what was unmistakably an Italian accent. “Where is he?” There was no answer; her eyes sought the cradle. “Ah!” she shrieked, then upon finding the cradle empty, she redoubled her lamentations and again she bore down upon the terrified Zoie. “You,” she cried, “you know where my baby is!” For answer, Zoie sank back amongst her pillows and drew the bed covers completely over her head. Alfred approached the bed to protect his young wife; the Italian woman wheeled about and perceived a small child in his arms. She threw herself upon him. “I knew it,” she cried; “I knew it!” Managing to disengage himself from what he considered a mad woman, and elevating one elbow between her and the child, Alfred prevented the mother from snatching the small creature from his arms. “Calm yourself, madam,” he commanded with a superior air. “We are very sorry for you, of course, but we can't have you coming here and going on like this. He's OUR baby and----” “He's NOT your baby!” cried the infuriated mother; “he's MY baby. Give him to me. Give him to me,” and with that she sprang upon the uncomfortable Alfred like a tigress. Throwing her whole weight on his uplifted elbow, she managed to pull down his arm until she could look into the face of the washerwoman's promising young offspring. The air was rent by a scream that made each individual hair of Jimmy's head stand up in its own defence. He could feel a sickly sensation at the top of his short thick neck.