AUNT MARY (whispering). No, no; I must take that, so that you can be
with the baby below.

MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, how good you are, Aunt Mary! It's too bad; it is
really. I can't let you.

AUNT MARY. Well, then, you must; that's all. You know how that child
tosses and kicks about in the night. You never can tell where his head's
going to be in the morning, but you'll probably find it at the foot of
the bed. I couldn't sleep an instant, my dear, if I thought that boy was
in the upper berth; for I'd be sure of his tumbling out over you. Here,
let me lay him down. [She lays the baby in the lower berth.] There! Now
get in, Agnes--do, and leave me to my struggle with the attraction of
gravitation.

MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, _poor_ aunty, how will you ever manage it? I _must_
help you up.

AUNT MARY. No, my dear; don't be foolish. But you may go and call the
porter, if you like. I dare say he's used to it.

[MRS. ROBERTS goes and speak timidly to THE PORTER, who fails at first to
understand, then smiles broadly, accepts a quarter with a duck of his
head, and comes forward to AUNT MARY'S side.]

MRS. ROBERTS. Had he better give you his hand to rest your foot in,
while you spring up as if you were mounting horseback?

AUNT MARY (with disdain). _Spring_! My dear, I haven't sprung for a