"Sure, Marie, 'tis a ould-fashioned rash, an' manny's the toime Oive
seen ut on a babby's face, an' whoile the docthor makes a fuss about
it, it's just nothin' at all, at all," responded Bridget.

"I'm thinkin' it don't pay to let it go an' not have the doctor see
about it," growled the butler in a deep bass voice.

"An' ain't they seein' about it wid all their eyes, the ould docthor
a-peekin' at the swate little thing t'rough his goggles, an' puttin' a
wee bit t'ermom'ter into her mouth what for I do' 'no' unless 'tis ter
foind out if it's near toime fer her ter be a-talkin'."

"He's very ugly, le m'sieur doctaire; if he was fine to behold it would
be well. And what said he of the child? That at home she could not
remain? If they do away take her M'sieur Harry will weep his fine eyes
out."

"Oh, you little Frenchie!" exclaimed the butler with a jolly laugh, "you
get things mixed. If it's nothing but a rash, as Bridget says, she'll
stay here, but if it's measles she'll be hurried off up-stairs, and--"

"An' be _quarantained_, Oim tould," interrupted Bridget.

"Oh, Breejhay, what _ees_ that?" cried the little French maid, and
Flossie waited to hear no more.

_Quarantined_! Oh, what a big word, and what _did_ it mean? Who was
going to do _that_ to dear Uncle Harry's baby?

_No_ one! She would not let them!