The man went to the chest.

"So it is your bundle that wails! Vale of Jehoshaphat! Behold a
vociferating parcel! What the devil has your bundle got to croak about?"

He unrolled the jacket. An infant's head appeared, the mouth open and
crying.

"Well, who goes there?" said the man. "Here is another of them. When is
this to end? Who is there? To arms! Corporal, call out the guard!
Another bang! What have you brought me, thief! Don't you see it is
thirsty? Come! the little one must have a drink. So now I shall not have
even the milk!"

He took down from the things lying in disorder on the shelf a bandage of
linen, a sponge and a phial, muttering savagely, "What an infernal
place!"

Then he looked at the little infant. "'Tis a girl! one can tell that by
her scream, and she is drenched as well." He dragged away, as he had
done from the boy, the tatters in which she was knotted up rather than
dressed, and swathed her in a rag, which, though of coarse linen, was
clean and dry. This rough and sudden dressing made the infant angry.

"She mews relentlessly," said he.

He bit off a long piece of sponge, tore from the roll a square piece of
linen, drew from it a bit of thread, took the saucepan containing the
milk from the stove, filled the phial with milk, drove down the sponge
halfway into its neck, covered the sponge with linen, tied this cork in