Arthur stared at Maida and Rosie as they entered with their strange bundle; stopped his telephoning to say, “Where did you get that baby?” “I’ll tell you in a moment,” Maida said wearily, “but now we’ve got to work fast and I never was so tired in my life. Oh Dicky dear, I’m so sorry for you! Poor, poor, Mrs. Dore and poor, poor Granny!” But it was Rosie who really took the situation in charge, Rosie who so loved babies, Rosie who having helped so long in the care of her own little brother, knew exactly what to do. “Tell Laura to get some milk from the ice chest, Arthur!” she commanded crisply, “and warm it up on the stove as quickly as possible. Then bring it upstairs to us. Maida, you come with me!” Rosie marched up to the bathroom and Maida meekly followed. On the first floor, “Get Mrs. Dore’s sewing board!” Rosie ordered and Maida got it. In the bathroom, Rosie placed the sewing board across the tub, close to the hand bowl; began to undress the baby. There were few things to take off. They were all loose, comparatively clean, but ragged. Soon the little creature lay on the soft towels that Rosie had spread on the sewing board, kicking feebly. The removal of her clothes seemed to ease her. Her cry abated its violence a bit. Only what was the translation of a baby sob came now and then. Rosie filled the bowl with warm water, then with the gentlest of soothing strokes and using the softest sponge she could find, she began to bathe the baby. Its crying died down completely. It responded to this cooling treatment with a little soft coo that drew from Maida, “Oh the little darling. Don’t you love her already, Rosie?” “I love all babies,” Rosie said in a business-like tone, sopping the little girl’s downy head. She dried her carefully--deft little pattings that seemed merely pettings--with the finest towel she could get. “Run to Mrs. Dore’s room and get Delia’s powder!” she commanded briefly again. When Maida returned, she covered the little glowing form with the cool powder. The baby’s eyelids began to droop. “See how sleepy it is,” Rosie said with a kind of triumph. “Ah there comes Laura. Oh I wonder if she had the sense to put the milk in one of Delia’s old bottles?” Laura had had the sense to do this, and was obviously proud of her foresight. Very expertly, Rosie turned a few drops from the bottle onto the back of her hand; decided it was not too hot; inserted the nipple in the baby’s mouth. The little girl pulled on it like one famished; pulled so hard and long and deep that Rosie had, once or twice, to take the bottle away to keep her from choking. The little hands always reached out for the bottle and after a few instants Rosie gave it to her again. In the meantime, Maida answered the stream of Laura’s questions, and Laura answered the torrent of Maida’s.