The little house must be removed from the landscape it dominated, before the neighbors grew aware of its presence. While RoBards dully tried to set his thought-machinery going, Patty murmured: “I’ll have to tell Immy. She is too weak to wonder yet. She’ll carry on terribly, but it can’t be helped. And she’ll be glad all the rest of her days. But where shall we—what can we do with the baby now?” “Huh?” gasped RoBards. “Oh, yes, what can we do with the—yes, that is the question, what can we do? We’ve got to do something.” But that could wait. Immy was faintly moaning, “Mamma! Mamma!” Patty ran to her. RoBards followed and bent to kiss the wrung-out wisp that had survived the long travail. She whispered feebly: “Where’s my baby? I haven’t even seen it yet. Is it a boy or——” Patty knelt and caressed her and asked her to be brave. Then, in order to have done with the horror, told it to her in the fewest words. Immy gave back the ghost of a shriek in protest against this miserable reward of all her shame and all the rending of her soul and body. She wanted to hold her achievement in her arms. She wanted to feel its little mouth nuzzling her flesh, drawing away that first clotted ache. Nature demanded that the child take up its offices in her behalf no less than its own. Thousands of years of habit clamored in her flesh. No one could say how much was love and how much was strangled instinct. But she was frantic. She whispered Murder! and kept maundering as she rocked her head sidewise, trying vainly to lift her weak hands in battle: “Oh, this is too much, this is just a little too much! How much am I supposed to endure? Will somebody please tell me how much I am expected to stand? That’s all I ask. Just tell me where my rights begin, if ever. If ever! My baby! My little, little baby that has never seen me and never can see me! Why, they won’t even let me hold my own baby in my arms!” RoBards stared at her in such pity that his heart seemed to beat up into his throat. Patty knelt and put out her hands to Immy in prayer for mercy, but Immy pushed them away, and threshed about like a broken jumping jack yanked by an invisible giant child. She turned her head to him and pleaded: “Papa! you bring me my baby. You always get me what I want, papa. Get me my baby!” Since life seemed determined to deny him his every plea, RoBards resolved that he at least would not deny anyone else anything—especially not Immy. He went to the big chair where the blanketed bundle was and gathering the child into his aching arms carried it to Immy and laid it in hers. The way her hands and her gaze and her moans and her tears rushed out to welcome it persuaded him that he had done the right thing. If ever property had been restored to its owner, now was the time.