She looked at him with greedy affection. "I thought you
were here," she spoke between quick breaths. "There is a
new baby, isn't there? Which?"

"Which?" repeated the doctor.

"Brother or sister?"

He smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Bro-
ther," he said, taking her hand. "Open."

"Good. Brothers are better," she murmured as he put
the glass tube under her tongue.

"Now, be still, I want to count." Dr. Archie reached
for her hand and took out his watch. When he put her
hand back under the quilt he went over to one of the win-
dows--they were both tight shut--and lifted it a little
way. He reached up and ran his hand along the cold, un-
papered wall. "Keep under the covers; I'll come back to
you in a moment," he said, bending over the glass lamp
with his thermometer. He winked at her from the door
before he shut it.

Peter Kronborg was sitting in his wife's room, holding
the bundle which contained his son. His air of cheerful

importance, his beard and glasses, even his shirt-sleeves,