"We're really not supposed to take them up and nurse them," she said. "But I own I break the rules sometimes. Poor little Queenie's a new-comer; she's been petted at home and hasn't got used to crèche ways yet. She'll soon settle down. Look at Arthur! Isn't he splendid? When he first came he was simply skin and bone through improper feeding. His mother used to give him tastes of tea and red herrings. This is Frankie, our special crèche baby. He lives here altogether. His mother is in prison for ill-treating him, poor wee darling! She's not to have him again when she comes out--the judge said so. I know you'd love Patty if she were awake. She's got the cutest little ways." Gwen went round from cot to cot performing services for the babies, restoring a teat to a small mouth that had not yet finished its bottle, covering cold hands, turning the position of some, and patting others who were inclined to be fretful and wail. "I just long to nurse them," she assured Avelyn. "But you see it really wouldn't do to let them get into the habit of thinking that they must be taken up and played with every time they cry." "Don't they howl when they first come?" "Simply yell for a day or two. Sometimes we have to put them in the isolation ward because they disturb the others so dreadfully. They soon get accustomed to crèche life, though. Their mothers bring them at about six in the morning, and take them home after work in the evening. When they arrive here they're washed, and dressed in the crèche clothes, and their own clothes are put on again at night." "They don't seem shy," remarked Avelyn, who was still hugging Queenie. "No, that's the best of them. With seeing so many nurses and helpers they'll go to anybody. They're very sweet when you may have them up and attend to them. Queenie's getting sleepy. I think you'd better put her back to bed." Avelyn disengaged the clinging little arms with reluctance. She would cheerfully have acted nurse all the morning if allowed. She lowered her sleepy burden into the crib, and turned her attention to the toddlers, who certainly needed it. Several of them had followed Gwen, and were popping mischievous fingers through the bars of the cribs and poking the babies; some were indulging in a free fight over a toy. Eddie, the black sheep, was attempting to climb the fire-guard; George was punching the head of a smaller boy, and Curly, for no particular reason, was standing with arms outstretched, yelling at the pitch of his lung power. It took the best energies of the two young helpers to restore order. "My clothes aren't comfy!" pleaded one small sinner in a tight jersey. "I'd be good if you'd let me have my own clothes on!" "George took my horse!" "I want a doll!" "Give me a picture-book!" "I want one too!" "You won't get anything at all unless you ask prettily!" declared Gwen sternly. "Where are your manners, I should like to know?"