"Oh! my baby. I know something's happened to the baby and they've come
to tell me."

Mrs. Lester's words rang high and shrill. They changed to a shriek as
Dicky opened the door and fell back startled.

For past him rushed a girl with a fear-distorted face holding in her
arms a baby that to my eyes looked as if it were dead.

But I had presence of mind enough to quiet Mrs. Lester's hysterical
fears.

"That is not your baby," I said sharply, grasping her by the arm. "It
is the child from across the hall!"

There is nothing in the world so pitiful to witness as the suffering
of a baby.

We all realized this as the maid held out to us the tiny infant, rigid
and blue as if it were already dead.

"Is the baby dead?" she gasped, her face convulsed with grief and
fear. "My madam is at the theatre, and the baby has been fretty for
two hours, and just a minute ago he stiffened out like this. Oh, dear!
Oh, dear!" she began to sob.

"Stop that!" Lillian Gale's voice rang out like a trumpet. "The baby
is not dead. It is in a convulsion. Give it to me and run back to your
apartment and bring me some warm blankets."