"It was the man in the blue cotton jacket; we asked him, and he gave us a lot of names, but we chose Mrs. Griffin ’cause she lived so near and we liked her name. We got her, not Guardie." "That, I should think, is a comforting reflection for Mr. Wycherly," Mrs. Methuen murmured; "but here we are. Now I’ll take you in to see my baby and meanwhile I’ll find some curtains and come back with you, and we’ll put them up with tapes; that’ll do anyway until Monday. You’ll be well shrouded from the public gaze and can depress nobody—what a curious way to put it though." "It was ’distressing,’ not ’depressing,’" Montagu explained. "Well, she depressed Guardie anyhow. I’ll go into the attic when I get home, and if I can see the least little bit of her doing anything _I’ll_ write and complain." "You won’t be able to see," Montagu said sadly; "she sleeps at the top, and her house is higher than ours—I saw her open her window yesterday while I was in bed." "You wait," said Edmund, wagging his curly head. "I bet you I’ll see something somehow—and then I’ll punish her for vexing Guardie." "I expect she only meant to be kind," Mrs. Methuen suggested. "She probably realised that you, none of you, had thought of anyone seeing in." "She might have waited a wee while," said Edmund, not at all disposed to take a charitable view of Miss Selina Brooks; "one can’t have everything straight in a new house all in a minute. Why is your house like a church outside?" Mrs. Methuen laughed. "It isn’t in the least like a church inside. Come and see!" and as she opened the front door the boys followed her into a square hall furnished like a room. It was a big house, and extremely comfortable, with wide staircase and easy steps not half so steep as those in Holywell. Mrs. Methuen ran up very fast, the boys after her. She took them into a room where a plump, pink baby, about eighteen months old, had just been bathed and was sitting smiling and majestic on the nurse’s knee. His clothing, it was a boy baby, as yet consisted of a flannel band; while a dab of violet powder on one cheek gave him a rakish air. "My precious," said Mrs. Methuen, kissing the scantily attired one; "you must look after these gentlemen for me for a few minutes;" and she forthwith vanished from the room. The nurse smiled and nodded to them. The baby remarked, "Mamma!" to no one in particular, and looked puzzled and hurt that she could tear herself away so soon. He wasn’t used to it. Edmund and Montagu advanced shyly towards their youthful host. "Say how d’you do to the nice young gentlemen, like a good baby," said the nurse in tones that subtly combined command and supplication. "Do," said the baby obediently.