Him and Min
never used it--never had enough soup to put in it--but Jim thought the
world of it. He was mighty perticuler about some things but didn't worry
him none that there weren't much in the way o' eatables to put in the
dishes."
For the first time in her life Rilla Blythe touched a baby--lifted it--
rolled it in a blanket, trembling with nervousness lest she drop it or--
or--break it. Then she put it in the soup tureen.
"Is there any fear of it smothering?" she asked anxiously.
"Not much odds if it do," said Mrs. Conover.
Horrified Rilla loosened the blanket round the baby's face a little. The
mite had stopped crying and was blinking up at her. It had big dark eyes
in its ugly little face.
"Better not let the wind blow on it," admonished Mrs. Conover. "Take its
breath if it do."
Rilla wrapped the tattered little quilt around the soup tureen.
"Will you hand this to me after I get into the buggy, please?"
"Sure I will," said Mrs. Conover, getting up with a grunt.
And so it was that Rilla Blythe, who had driven to the Anderson house a
self-confessed hater of babies, drove away from it carrying one in a
soup tureen on her lap!
Rilla thought she would never get to Ingleside. In the soup tureen there
was an uncanny silence. In one way she was thankful the baby did not cry
but she wished it would give an occasional squeak to prove that it was
alive.
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