"It seems made for a nursery, doesn't it?" he commented. "Let's see. You could put six little beds along each side, and a couple in the other room with the nurse's bed. That would more than dispose of your dozen already." "And I been a-worryin' what to do with 'em all when I got this room! I ought 'a' been ashamed of myself! Now, you run right along and order the things we need--beds and whatever babies should have--and send them right up. Tell the storekeepers that they must git here at once or I won't take 'em. I can jest see James's face when I tell him his wife won't need to keep them five babies he's got any longer. I'll go and take my bunnet off and help move." Within the next two days twelve little beds were established in the billiard room, and the little mother was installed as first nurse, with Jane and a couple of girls hired as assistants. That evening Drusilla was sitting down to dinner--or supper, as she called it--when Mr. Thornton was ushered in. He was more severe and uncompromising than ever, and Drusilla said to herself, "I'm in for it. He's heard somethin'." But she did not show that she was a wee bit nervous. She said, as if it were the usual thing for him to make her an evening call, "Why, how do you do, Mr. Thornton? Won't you have some supper with me?" "No, thank you. I came to talk with you." "Now, that's real nice of you. I always like to talk. Set right down and we'll have a comfortable visit. You'd better change your mind and have some supper." "No; my dinner is waiting for me." "I eat my dinner in the middle of the day, though James will call it lunch. I think a great big dinner at night makes you dream of your grandmother, so I have mine like I used to." "I understand that you have been to court, and brought home with you that woman and her child." "Well, well! How news does travel! How did you hear that?" "It is in the evening papers." "Is it? Well, I do declare! It seems I can't do nothin' but what I git in the papers. I don't need to talk to git writ up; my money talks for me. What did they say?" The lawyer drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to Drusilla. She took her glasses from her forehead, where they had been resting, and read aloud: MISS DRUSILLA DOANE, THE FRIEND OF THE FRIENDLESS. "Well, ain't that nice of 'em!" she stopped to comment; then she went on reading. "They seem to have it all down," she said, handing the paper back to Mr. Thornton. He looked at her with the air he used when trying to frighten witnesses who opposed him. "Of course, you will deny all this. You will make a statement that it is all a mistake, and that you do not intend to give these--these--wanderers a home." "Now, that's a good word, Mr. Thornton; that's jest what they are--wanderers. But they won't be wanderers no more; they've found a home." "What do you mean?" "Jest what I said, Mr. Thornton. I mean to give that mother and her baby a home."