While Miss Chandler went to see Mrs. Stoddard, Lucy and Dora looked at all the babies. Then Miss Perrin took them into another and much larger room. Even this big room was full of babies. They were not sleeping in bassinets like those in the smaller room, but their beds were just as comfortable. Each one lay on a mattress in a wire basket which looked something like Mother’s dish-drainer. When a nurse wanted a special baby, she picked it up, basket and all, and carried it off. In the middle of the room was an odd table, with wheels and two shelves. One of the nurses was collecting wire baskets, each with a wee baby. She set the baskets side by side on the shelves of the table. When there was room for no more, she wheeled the table and the babies into the corridor. “They are going to their mothers,” said Miss Perrin. “The mothers are in another room and it is time the babies were fed.” “How do they know which baby belongs to which mother?” asked Dora. “There are so many that I should think they would get mixed.” “No, they are never mixed,” said Miss Perrin. “We are careful about that, for of course each mother prefers her own baby.” Miss Perrin lifted the blanket of the nearest baby and showed the children a tag fastened to its dress. On the tag was a number and a name. The name was that of the mother, and the number that of her bed. “Whenever a nurse dresses a baby,” Miss Perrin explained, “the first thing she does is to take off this tag and fasten it to the clean dress. And she mustn’t touch another baby until the first one is finished. But we also mark them in another way.” Miss Perrin uncovered a tiny foot. On its sole was stuck a piece of cloth plaster with the mother’s name written on it. “You see they cannot be mixed,” she said. “And, anyway, the mothers soon know their own babies.” “Of course,” Dora agreed. Lucy gave an exclamation. In one wire basket lay a baby, no smaller than the others, for all were small, but different, because it was a colored baby. Its skin was black and wee bits of wool covered its head. “Isn’t it cunning!” said Lucy. “Oh, Dora, I wish we could have it at our house.” “So do I,” said Dora. Miss Perrin laughed. “I guess Mother wouldn’t want you to have it,” she said. “Her name is Blanche, and she is just as good as a kitten.” Lucy and Dora could not leave that little black baby. They liked it best of any, and when Miss Chandler came back, she found them by its basket. They talked about it all the way to Miss Chandler’s apartment, and while they were packing the suit-case. “We have had a beautiful time, Aunt Margaret,” said Lucy, when they were ready to start for the station. “Thank you for asking us,” said Dora. “I think Boston is a very nice place.” “Nice enough to live in?” asked Miss Chandler. “Oh, yes,” said Dora, and then she stopped. “If I could live in two places,” she went on, after thinking a little. “Because Westmore is home, you know.”