Rose-Marie was the first to break the silence.

"If that is Erik you have in your arms, who is--that?"

"That, I think, is for you to explain," said Mrs. Momeby stiffly.

"Obviously," said Clovis, "it's a duplicate Erik that your powers
of faith called into being. The question is: What are you going
to do with him?"

The ashen pallor deepened in Rose-Marie's cheeks. Mrs. Momeby
clutched the genuine Erik closer to her side, as though she feared
that her uncanny neighbour might out of sheer pique turn him into
a bowl of gold-fish.

"I found him sitting in the middle of the road," said Rose-Marie
weakly.

"You can't take him back and leave him there," said Clovis; "the
highway is meant for traffic, not to be used as a lumber-room for
disused miracles."

Rose-Marie wept. The proverb "Weep and you weep alone," broke
down as badly on application as most of its kind. Both babies
were wailing lugubriously, and the parent Momebys had scarcely
recovered from their earlier lachrymose condition. Clovis alone
maintained an unruffled cheerfulness.

"Must I keep him always?" asked Rose-Marie dolefully.