“Drusa, dear, this was the way of it: Grandpa and Dick wished to explain to me the necessity of their immediate departure for Southampton. Little Lenny and his nurse were in the room. Grandpa and Dick did not want any other listener than myself, so they told Pina to take the child down to the sidewalk, thinking, of course, that so careful a nurse would keep him in the shade. So you see the girl was not to blame for taking the child out; though certainly I think she _is_ for keeping him out so long. But still I don’t think you need be uneasy, Drusa. Pina is no strange nurse. You have known her well for three years, and she has had the care of your child for two, and has always proved herself worthy of the trust. I hope you are not uneasy about him?” “Oh, no! That is, I know I have no reason to be so, for Pina takes as great care of him as I could myself, only I think mothers are always uneasy when their infants are out of sight. I _wish_ she would return.” “Oh, she will be back in a few minutes,” said Anna, cheerfully. “Listen! there is some one coming up,” said Drusilla. Steps and voices were indeed heard near the room, and almost immediately there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” said Anna. The door was opened by a waiter, who put in his head and said: “If you please, my ladies, here is a policeman brought home your nursemaid almost in fits.” “Lenny! where is Lenny? Has anything happened to him? Have you brought home my child?” cried Drusilla, starting up and rushing to the door before Anna could even answer. “My child! my child! where is my child?” she cried, clasping her hands in an agony of terror. “My lady, from the girl’s ravings I’m afeard she has—well, not to make it any worse than what it is—mislaid the child some’rs or other,” said the policeman, coming forward half helping and half dragging Pina, who, as soon as she saw her mistress, sank with a gasp of mute anguish at her feet. “Lenny! Lenny lost! Oh, Father! Oh, Heavenly Father, have mercy!” cried Drusilla, reeling back into the arms of Anna, who sprang forward to support her. “The child missing! What do you mean? It cannot be! Pina, where is little Lenny?” demanded Anna, scarcely able to control her own terror and distress, even while she sustained the agonized mother. “Answer me, Pina, I say! Where is little Lenny?” But Pina was past answering, past everything but grovelling at their feet and howling and tearing her hair. “Has the girl gone suddenly mad and so lost the child? Policeman, where and under what circumstances did you find her? Waiter, bring forward that easy-chair.” The chair was rolled forward and Drusilla was eased into it, where she sat pale, and mute, every sense on the _qui vive_ to hear the policeman’s story. Terrified, agonized, yet with a mighty effort holding herself still and calm, the bereaved young mother sat and listened to the policeman’s account of his meeting with the nurse, after the loss of the child.