"We came to say we'd send you milk for the baby every day," said Mrs
Hankworth, entering the kitchen. "You'll want yours for the butter."

"It's very kind of you," said Anne. "But he'll want a good deal."

"We've got seventy-five cows, you know," said Mrs Hankworth, with a
contented laugh. "He'll not make much difference among 'em. Where is he?
Bless him," she said, as she saw the baby staring at her from the wide
wooden chair, in which he was tied.

"A fine baby," said the farmer with an ultimate tone.

"He _is_ a nice one!" said his wife. "I _must_ take him," she said,
picking up the baby and turning him face downwards over her arm while
she seated herself. She spread open her knees and laid him, docile to
her practised handling, across them. Anne watched her with the air of
one taking a lesson.

"Did you have much trouble to get him?" asked Mrs Hankworth.

"No, very little," said Anne. "There were some papers to sign, and one
or two other things, but I believe they're generally glad to board out
children if they can."

"Well, he's a healthy child. Oh! I don't know anything that made me so
full as to hear that poor girl had slipped away like that. I didn't get
over it for some days. You remember the last time I saw you, I was
intending to go and see her."

"Yes, we were all making plans," said Anne.