Daphne entered, interested and excited, followed by her father, stiff, erect, the correct lawyer troubled by unnecessary and petty affairs of the women world. Daphne came to the baby, who stopped his wails long enough to stare at the new visitor with round, wondering eyes. "Oh, _isn't_ he a dear! How did you find him?" Drusilla handed her the letter. "Read that, and then you'll know as much as me." Daphne read the note out loud. "Isn't it romantic, Father!" she exclaimed. "Just like you read about in books. Oh, look at James with the bottle!" James looked neither to the right nor to the left but handed the bottle to Drusilla. She felt it to test its warmth and gave it to the squirming baby, who settled down into the hollow of her arm with a little gurgle of content. The four stood around the baby and watched it for a few moments in silence. Soon its lids began to droop and it was off to slumberland. "What are you going to do with it, Miss Doane?" whispered Daphne. "I'm sure I don't know. That's why I sent for your father." "It's clearly a case for the police," Mr. Thornton said dryly. "I will telephone them." Drusilla looked at him inquiringly. "What did you say? Telephone the police? Why?" "I will ask them to call and take the child in charge." "Why, what's the baby done?" "Nothing, of course; but they will understand how to dispose of it." "What'll they do with it?" "They will get into connection with the proper authorities, and if the mother cannot be found, they will have the child committed to some institution." "Some institution. What kind of an institution?" "An orphan asylum--a home for waifs of this kind." Drusilla caught the word "home" and she sat up so suddenly that the bottle fell to the floor and the blue eyes opened and looked into Drusilla's face appealingly and the little wail arose again. Drusilla bent over and picked up the bottle, and when she arose her eyes were hard and two bright spots colored her wrinkled cheeks. "You said 'home.' What do you mean? I don't like the word." Mr. Thornton was plainly irritated. "A home for foundlings, where the proper care will be given it." "Yes, but how?" queried Drusilla. "What kind of care?" Daphne interrupted her father, who was plainly trying to find words to explain the exact meaning of an orphan asylum. "Oh, Father, that's horrid. It'll be put in with hundreds of other babies, all dressed alike, and all brought up on rules and bells and things--" "I know now what your father means--an orphan asylum. Just the same thing as an old ladies' home, only backwards. No, I lived in one o' them and I know what it is and," she settled back in her chair, "my baby ain't goin' there." "But," objected Mr. Thornton, looking helplessly at the obstinate face before him, "that is the only possible way to dispose of him." "But think of his poor mother, how she'd feel if she read in the paper that he'd been put in a home. She could 'a' done that herself."