The world bows down before a sick baby, but a convalescent baby puts its foot on the neck of the prostrate world and then pushes. Marjorie ruled. She demanded many things. She insisted on being rocked to sleep, and sung to, and being held while awake, and all manner of things that her governing committee considered debilitating and antiquated, and Mrs. Field-ing, glowing with newly found mother love, decided that Marjorie must have them. She felt that a little petting would not harm the child, but she was afraid of Chiswick. Chiswick, like an incorruptible guard, was always present, and back of Chiswick was the governing committee, and back of the committee was the Federation of Women's Clubs, and back of that was all the great theory of scientific motherhood and the greater theory of the Higher and Better Life for Women. Mrs. Fielding felt that the eye of the world was upon her, and that Chiswick was that eye. The only way to secure freedom was to put the eye out, so she put it out. She gave Chiswick an afternoon off. Chiswick went reluctantly. She was a lover of duty, and she had but one desire in life, to see Marjorie keep to her schedule. Mrs. Fielding and Marjorie had a good time that afternoon. Marjorie learned to put her arms around her mother's neck and to lay her face close against her mother's face, but Chiswick wandered up and down before the house disconsolately. When she was let in she threw off her hat and dashed at Marjorie greedily. She took her pulse eight times in succession and refused supper because she wanted to get so many respirations and temperatures that she had no time to eat. She was just settling down to a nicely scientific evening when Mr. Fielding entered the nursery. Mr. Fielding feared Chiswick as much as he feared Mrs. Fielding. He cast one glance at Marjorie, sweet and clean in her nightgown, and another at the door, and then smiled at Chiswick. It was a guileful smile. “Chiswick,” he said, “it is a beautiful evening.” “Is it, sir?” she asked, coldly. “Beautiful,” he returned with great enthusiasm. “Beautiful! I never saw a finer night--outside.” “You don't say!” she remarked, but her voice expressed the deepest unconcern for the weather. Mr. Fielding moved toward Marjorie. Chiswick quietly slipped between them. “My!” Mr. Fielding exclaimed. “You are not looking at all well yourself, Chiswick. You are overworking. I don't know what Mrs. Fielding can be thinking about to let you wear yourself out so. You are so faithful, so--” Chiswick shook her head. “I don't want no outing,” she said, sullenly. “I've had one. I don't need no more. I'm well.” “Really,” said Mr. Fielding, “a little run in this fresh evening air would do wonders for you; wonders! It would quite set you up again. You must think of your health, Chiswick.” He eyed Marjorie longingly. “No, thank you,” said Chiswick. “I'll try to get along.”