Tuesday came and it poured with rain. Jane-Anne duly made her timid appearance at Mrs. Cox’s and was shown into Mrs. Cox’s study, where the baby sat propped up in her pram while her mother pushed her back and forth to amuse her. Mrs. Cox stayed for a little, then the baby showed signs of wanting to go to sleep, so she was laid down and Jane-Anne was instructed to continue the gentle to and fro movement till she "went off," and Mrs. Cox departed to see to some household matters elsewhere, leaving the door open. The Cox baby was fair and plump and pretty, and appeared an entirely exemplary infant, for in five minutes she was fast asleep. Jane-Anne stopped pushing the perambulator to and fro, and sat down to look round. There was a book-case at one side of the fireplace and its two lowest shelves were full of bound volumes of _Mr. Punch_. In a moment, her quick eyes had taken in this pleasing fact and she had one of the big flat books open on her knee. She looked at the pictures and read the legends beneath them with great content for a little while, always, however, with one eye on the perambulator and ears alert to catch the faintest movement from its occupant. Presently there was a little stir and the indescribable soft sound a baby makes when it is just waking up. From the room above came sundry bumps and scrapings that proclaimed the cleaning to be in full swing. She darted to the perambulator and looked in; the baby, rosy and warm and adorable looked up at her and smiled. It was too much for Jane-Anne. She forgot Mrs. Cox’s instructions that she was on no account to lift the baby out when it woke, but to call her. She seized the small delicious bundle that stretched and cuddled against her and sat down on the low seat close by the book-case. Baby began to whimper. Jane-Anne repeated "See-Saw, Margery Daw," but the baby evidently was impervious to the charms of poetry, and the whimper grew a little more decided. Then there flashed into Jane-Anne’s perturbed mind her aunt’s instructions: "Turn it face downwards on your knee and pat it gentle." No sooner thought of than done, and it was, apparently, quite successful. Jane-Anne had just got to a very interesting part of _Punch_, and she longed to return to it. As the baby was evidently quiet and happy, she felt she might go back to her study of the Great Jester—nurses always were reading—even while they wheeled their prams—so it was all right. She kept one hand on the baby’s back to steady it and tried to hold up the volume of _Punch_ with the other, but _Punch_ was heavy and she was not very successful. Presently a brilliant thought struck her: If _Punch_ was open on the top of the baby, it would fulfil a double purpose, keep the baby from rolling off her knee, and amuse her, Jane-Anne. It really was a very fascinating _Punch_.