"Come here, Mr. Carrington," she said; "you're stronger than I am. Lift this up on them two chairs. So--that's right. Now put this thermometer in the water and see if it's 100 degrees. I can't see to read it. Is it right? Now--we'll take the baby--take off your coat and hat--yes, you'd better take off that coat too"--seeing that the man was in evening dress--"and turn up your sleeves--you'll git your cuffs wet. Now take off the baby's clothes, Mary. So--poor little thing!--take 'em all off, shirt and all, and we'll put him in this piece of flannel. Now you hold him like this, Mr. Carrington. Hold him in the hot water. There--jest so's his face is out--don't let him slip! So--now he's breathin' better already. Don't let the water git cold, Mary. Put a little more hot water in--there--that's right. Yes, he's gittin' red, Mr. Carrington, but he wants to git red. See, he's breathin' better. Does your arm ache? Hold him a little longer; I'm goin' to git some goose grease that I brought along with me from the home. I'll be back in a minute. Don't let the water git cool." She returned in a few moments with a bottle in her hand, and handed it to one of the nurses. "Warm it, put it in hot water till it runs. Now--" Just then the door opened and a woman stood in the doorway, an angry look on her pretty, petulant face. She was covered with a big white evening wrap, and was most impatient. She looked at the scene before her without comprehending it, and her voice said angrily: "Robert, we will be late for the opera! What do you mean by--" Drusilla looked from the baby to the woman in the doorway. "Come right in, Mis' Carrington. I'm glad you come. Take off your coat. Yes, we need you. Lay it over there on the bed." And before the astonished woman knew what she was doing her wrap was laid upon a small white bed and she was standing in her elaborate evening gown looking down at a very red baby being held in a hot bath by the hands of her husband. "Now, Mis' Carrington, lay that other piece of flannel on the bed, and we'll put the baby in it. I think he's boiled most of his cold out. So--that's right, roll him out--and we'll rub him with the grease. You do it, Mis' Carrington; your hands is younger and not so stiff as mine. Put lots on his chest and around his throat. And turn him over on his back, Mr. Carrington. Put a lot on his back. So--that's right. Rub it in well. And now we'll put him in the bed. There, poor little mite, he breathes better now, don't he?" They stood around the bed, looking down at the child, whose regular breathing showed that he had stopped fighting for his breath and the battle was won. Soon his eyes, which had been staring so pitifully closed, and with a little sigh the baby slept.