"Why, she thought of everything! She must 'a' loved you, little John, even though she left you on my doorstep." The baby, a healthy little youngster about eight months old, blinked up at Drusilla in a friendly manner, then clutched her hair. Drusilla laughed, as she drew her head away. "That's the first thing all babies make for, my hair. Bless his little heart, he's gettin' familiar already." James interrupted. "What'll I do with it, Miss Doane?" Drusilla looked up from the baby. "Do with what? The basket? Take it away." "No, ma'am; I meant _it_"--pointing to the baby. "James, it is not an _it_. It's a _he_. But you're right, James; what'll we do with it?" And she looked down at the little body in her arms. "Why--why--" stammered James, who plainly showed that disposing of babies left by chance at doorsteps was entirely out of the usual line of a well trained butler's duties, "I don't know, ma'am. It never happened before where I've served." Here he had an inspiration and his face cleared. "Perhaps we'd better send for Mr. Thornton." Drusilla looked up at him in a relieved way. "That's the first glimmer of sense you've ever showed, James; though what he knows about babies I don't see. I'm sure he never was one himself. Now I'll set down--this baby's heavy--and you go and telephone." "What'll I tell him, ma'am?" "Tell him? Why, tell him we've got a baby unexpected and we don't know what to do with it." James almost smiled again. "I'll break the news to him careful, ma'am," he said. When he was gone Drusilla scrutinized the baby's hood and coat. "Jane," she said, "his clothes is pretty---his mother must 'a' made 'em; and his socks is knit, not bought ones." She examined each article of his clothing as carefully as would a mother inspecting her firstborn's wardrobe. "He's dressed real nice.... Did you get him?" as James entered the room. "What did he say?" "I did not speak to him, Miss Doane, but to Miss Daphne. She acted rather--well--rather excited, and said she would be over immediately with her father." "We'll wait in patience, I suppose. I'll lay this young man down. My arms must be a gettin' old because I feel him." She laid the baby on the couch and he protested with legs and arms and voice against being again laid upon his back. Drusilla took him up and he was happy again. "Well," laughed Drusilla, "I guess I've found somethin' to do with my hands." The baby stared at Drusilla for a few moments; then his wails commenced again. Drusilla trotted him, but that did not stop his cries. "Perhaps he is hungry, Miss Doane," Jeanne suggested. "Give me that bottle." Drusilla felt the bottle and found it cold. "It's cold, James. Go warm some milk and scald the bottle." James went away, his head held high, disapproval expressed in every line of his back. Within a few moments a motor was heard at the door and Daphne's young voice was calling: "Can we come in, Miss Doane? Where is the baby?"