from a window near by, rushed upon the scene. She was Gladys Mann's
mother. Just as she appeared the baby began to cry, and that
accelerated her speed. The windows of her house became filled with
staring childish faces. The woman, who was very small and lean but
wiry, a bundle of muscles and nerve, ran up to the baby-carriage, and
pulled it back to its proper status, and began at once quieting the
frightened baby and scolding the girls.

"Hush, hush," cooed she to the baby. "Did it think it was goin' to
get hurted?" Then to the girls: "Ain't you ashamed of yourselves, two
great girls fightin' right in the street, and most tippin' the baby
over. S'posin' you had killed him?"

Then Josephine burst forth in a great wail of wrath and pain. The
bringing down of the carriage had increased her agony, for Maria
still clung to her hair.

"Oh, oh, oh!" howled Josephine, her head straining back. "She's most
killin' me."

"An' I'll warrant you deserve it," said the woman. Then she added to
Maria--she was entirely impartial in her scolding--"Let go of her,
ain't you shamed." Then to the baby, "Did he think he was goin' to
get hurted?"

"He's a girl!" cried Maria in a frenzy of indignation. "He is not a
boy, he is a girl." She still clung desperately to Josephine's hair,
who in her turn clung to the baby-carriage.

Then Gladys came out of the house, in a miserable, thin, dirty gown,