But--but--that poor young
mother who hadn't wanted it to go to the asylum! Rilla couldn't get that
out of her thoughts. And that very morning she discovered that the baby
had gained eight ounces since its coming to Ingleside. Rilla had felt
such a thrill of pride over this.
"You--you said it mightn't live if it went to Hopetown," she said.
"It mightn't. Somehow, institutional care, no matter how good it may be,
doesn't always succeed with delicate babies. But you know what it means
if you want it kept here, Rilla."
"I've taken care of it for a fortnight--and it has gained half a
pound," cried Rilla. "I think we'd better wait until we hear from its
father anyhow. He mightn't want to have it sent to an orphan asylum,
when he is fighting the battles of his country."
The doctor and Mrs. Blythe exchanged amused, satisfied smiles behind
Rilla's back; and nothing more was said about Hopetown.
Then the smile faded from the doctor's face; the Germans were twenty
miles from Paris. Horrible tales were beginning to appear in the papers
of deeds done in martyred Belgium. Life was very tense at Ingleside for
the older people.
"We eat up the war news," Gertrude Oliver told Mrs. Meredith, trying to
laugh and failing. "We study the maps and nip the whole Hun army in a
few well-directed strategic moves. But Papa Joffre hasn't the benefit of
our advice--and so Paris--must--fall.
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