"You made me throw away the cold water," I said, laughing.

"There's some in the bottles," she returned. "Make haste."

I did try to make haste, but I could not be quick enough to satisfy
Ethelwyn.

"The child will be dead," she cried, "before we get it in the water."

She had its rags off in a moment--there was very little to remove after the
shawl. How white the little thing was, though dreadfully neglected! It was
a girl--not more than a few weeks old, we agreed. Her little heart was
still beating feebly; and as she was a well-made, apparently healthy
infant, we had every hope of recovering her. And we were not disappointed.
She began to move her little legs and arms with short, convulsive motions.

"Do you know where the dairy is, Harry?" asked my wife, with no great
compliment to my bumps of locality, which I had always flattered myself
were beyond the average in development.

"I think I do," I answered.

"Could you tell which was this night's milk, now?"

"There will be less cream on it," I answered.

"Bring a little of that and some more hot water. I've got some sugar here.
I wish we had a bottle."