In the next few days Miss Theodosia unpacked the rest of her trunks and put the things away neatly in permanent places. She sang as she did it. Life seemed a singing thing to Miss Theodosia who had been a lonely woman—until now. Now she could look out of her window and see the little House of Flaggs. Any minute Evangeline might burst in. The steam whistle might blow. The Shadow Reformed-Doctor Man might come for another cup of tea. Anything might happen.

Something did happen, but it was not a singing thing. Evangeline did burst in. It was some days later than the Day of the Shirt. Miss Theodosia sat comfortably sipping her afternoon tea. Two dainty cups were before her.

"Mercy gracious—mercy, mercy, mercy gracious! This is the worst! This is worse than Aunt Sarah! An' to think it's Elly Precious, my darlin' dear! An' to think I never had—! An' to think I did it myself!"

Even to Evangeline, words failed to express this worst of all things. She dropped, a little leaden thing of despair, into Miss Theodosia's great chair and rocked herself in anguish.

"What is it, dear?" Miss Theodosia cried anxiously. The little word of endearment slipped out unconsciously, though she was not used to "dears." But she was not used to this, either—this rocking in anguish of a little child in her great chair.

"Can't you stop crying and tell me?" Evangeline not able to talk! Miss Theodosia was actually alarmed. If speech did not return quickly—but speech returned.

"Oh, mercy gracious me!" Evangeline sobbed, rocking harder, "to think I went an' set him right down in the middle of 'em—right slap in the middle! An' he didn't want to be set down. Elly Precious despises the Benjamin baby. He knows he's a girl, an' girl-babies don't count. But I set him down—oh, mercy gracious me, I went an' set him down, slap!"

Sobs and words collided and inextricably mixed. In the dark Miss
Theodosia waited; she saw no light as yet.

"If I could only have 'em—if I only had've, anyway! Then I could take care of my darlin' dear. But Elly Precious's is the only measles we ever had in the family."

Ah, light! Miss Theodosia blinked in the sudden inflow of it.
Evangeline's released tongue leaped ahead.

"How'd I know the Benjamin baby had 'em when she only just sneezed? Oh, I suppose she sneezed 'em all around, an' I set Elly Precious down in 'em! Right in a nest o' measles!"

"What was Elly Precious doing there? I don't remember any Benjamins."

"No'm—oh, no'm. They're very recent. It's that house with the baby-pen in the front yard to keep their baby in. I set Elly Precious down in it, too, one day."

Evangeline shuddered. "While I was gettin' Stefana's starch at the store; I asked if I could, till I got back."

Miss Theodosia's face put on sternness. "What was the mother of the
Benjamin baby thinking of, to let you?" she demanded.

"Oh, I don't know—I don't know! That's a very speckled baby, anyway, an' perhaps she didn't know measles from speckles. He didn't bloom out reg'lar built till next day—I mean she didn't—oh, I don't mean the mother didn't—"

"I know, dear; I know what you mean," soothed Miss Theodosia gently.

"Yes'm, that's what I mean. Next day they found out for sure."

"But have you found out 'for sure'? How do you know Elly Precious has the measles? Has he—bloomed out? Perhaps his are speck—"

"Elly Precious!" rose Evangeline's voice of indignation. "He's the unspeckledest baby you ever saw! I guess—I guess you never saw Elly Precious!"

Stefana appeared suddenly in the doorway,—a blanched and frightened
Stefana. But she was determinedly calm.

"He's fell asleep, and Carruthers is watching him through the door. I told him not to go any nearer'n that. I came over to ask if I'd better send word to Mother. He said to ask you."

"Carruthers?" Miss Theodosia was a little bewildered.

"The Tract Man. He's the one that—that discovered Elly Precious's measles when we found he was broken out—I mean Elly Precious broken out—"

"Yes, yes, I know. He is a doctor—I mean—" Miss Theodosia caught herself up firmly. One at least must steer a clear course.

"He was goin' past," Evangeline put in, "an' I asked him, if he uster be a doctor, wouldn't he please to be one now an' 'xamine Elly Precious's spots."

"Measles," Stefana said briefly and hopelessly. "Shall we send for
Mother, or what'll we do? Aunt Sarah isn't knitting."

"Aunt Sarah—" began poor Miss Theodosia. Would she ever get used to little Flaggs? Evangeline broke in gloomily with explanation.

"No'm, not knittin', Mother wrote Stefana. Kind of—of unravelin' instead. An' Mother's caught it."

Miss Theodosia turned appealing eyes to Stefana.

"Her knee's bad, too. Maybe it's just rheumatism, but she borrows Aunt
Sarah's crutches when they're empty. I don't see how she'd get home—"

"Don't send for her!" Miss Theodosia directed. Some inner voice seemed to say it through her lips. The same dictate from within prompted the rest.

"Bring the baby over here. Bring all his nightgowns. I'll take care of him. It won't do for all you children to come down. Does the Reform—does the doctor think you can have caught them already? I don't believe it! Not till the disease is further advanced."

"That's what he said—not till." Stefana hurried in eagerly. "He didn't believe it."

"The Benjamin baby wasn't further advanced," doubted Evangeline discouragingly.

"Never you mind the Benjamin baby! You bring your baby over here at once with his nightgowns! I believe we're in time. I'll be reading up my medicine book. You can tell the doctor to come here instead of to your house. Don't any of you dare to kiss Elly Precious good-by!"

Miss Theodosia was moving briskly about the room, doing strange things,—pulling down shades and drawing together draperies.

"Mustn't have too much light, though maybe that is later on, too. I'm sure there is something about being careful of the eyes. Evangeline, wait! Let Stefana go. I don't trust you; you might kiss him."

"Yes'm, I might," sighed poor little Evangeline. "He's my darlin' dear." A terrible separation yawned before her like a bottomless pit of desolation. How was she to live Elly Preciousless?

"Can't I come over an'—an' hold him when he isn't—when he isn't sneezing?" she suddenly sobbed forth. Miss Theodosia was too engrossed to be sympathetic. There were many things to think of.

"Come over?—I should say not! You can't do anything but look through the window, and I shall ask the doctor if that's safe. Now listen—dear," again the "dear" slipped through her lips unconsciously. "Listen! When you see Stefana coming, you go out the back door! I wish I'd told her to bring him in the clothes basket instead of in her arms—"

"I'll tell her to! Through the window. I'll tell her to bring him by the handles," and Evangeline hurried away excitedly.

An hour later Miss Theodosia, in a voluminous white apron and a hastily invented white cap, had formally assumed her astonishing new rÔle. Under the cap Miss Theodosia's cheeks were prettily pink. It was becoming to her to be Elly Precious' nurse. But the queer feeling of it! An hour ago Theodosia Baxter, in a big house, alone; now this becapped and pink-cheeked Theodosia in a house with a baby! It was an exciting change; what else might it become? She was a little afraid of Elly Precious.

"Not now, while he is asleep, but when he wakes—" she thought. What would she do with Elly Precious when he waked?

Of course, she had sent for the Reformed Doctor, and equally, of course, she would do precisely what he told her to do. But how would it feel? So far, it felt queer.

"I'll wait and see," she concluded with philosophy. At six the doctor came. It was significant how he had left his rÔle of authorship at home and came physicianly, brisk and competent.

"Measles haven't changed, anyway, in ten years," he said as he removed his coat. Long ago, as a doctor, John Bradford had had his idiosyncrasies, and one of them had been to work in his shirt sleeves. The laying aside of his coat now had, if Miss Theodosia had but known, bridged over the ten years.

"Am I quarantined?" demanded the nurse.

"You are," promptly replied the doctor.

"Mercy gracious!"

Silence while the tiny patient was carefully examined, with so delicate a touch that he slept on.

"For how long?" then.

"Oh—weeks. Two, perhaps. Perhaps three. He is beginning to be feverish in earnest now. You got him over here just in time. May I have a glass of water?"

Miss Theodosia went away to get it on shaking legs. She almost staggered. The plot was getting thick!

"If you think his mother ought to be sent for—I'm afraid I'm in a blue funk!" She had returned and was splashing the water over the edge of the glass as she held it out. He laughed reassuringly. His face, turned sidewise up at her, was as reviving as cool water upon a faint. Miss Theodosia "came to."

"I've got over it. Go ahead—tell me precisely what you want done. Write it down somewhere. I can read writing! And I can't forget it. Of course I can rock him?"

He did not answer at once, and she misinterpreted his silence.

"I shall rock him," she said with firmness. "Written down or not written down." And again he laughed, with the same curiously explosive little effect as when she had first heard him do it as a Shadow Man.

It was long after he left before Elly Precious woke. With remarkable presence of mind, Miss Theodosia had darkened the room to make the difference between herself and Evangeline or Stefana as inconspicuous as possible. It helped. Elly Precious, even busy with his measles, might have vigorously refused this strange new ministering. But in the darkness he accepted it with a measure of resignation. He appeared to be looking inward at his own poor little pains instead of outward or upward at Miss Theodosia. She wisely refrained from speech during those first critical moments.

Ten-year-old arms may not be as steady for cradling as thirty-six-year olds. Miss Theodosia's were steady and soft. The baby nestled into them and she rocked him.

She was rocking a baby! She was glad to be alone in the dark. The sensation rather overwhelmed her. Then Elly Precious flung up little hot hands and touched her face, and the sensation was no longer a new one. Surely she had felt it before. Was it in another incarnation that she had rocked a little child? The small, hot hands tugged at her heartstrings—they must have tugged, just so, at that ancient rocking. It was a beautiful tune, but not a new tune that the small hands played. No, no—not new!

Miss Theodosia began to croon softly, no longer afraid of sound. And
Elly Precious snuggled deeper.

Shut in together—she and he and the measles—they grew accustomed to each other. After the first, the days went rather fast, with Evangeline's help through the window and under the door. Evangeline helped from the first. Miss Theodosia found little letters emerging through the tight crack under her outside door. The first one she read smilingly:

[Illustration: Evangeline established a stage of action outside the window.]

"He likes jiggy tunes best—please sing him jiggy tunes."

So she sang them to Elly Precious and found he liked them best;
Evangeline knew. This method of helping promised to be valuable.

One day there were two little letters under the door.

"When he crys, he'll stop if you distrack him. Like this—boo—or make a cow-noise or a horse-noise, but it doesn't always work. Sometimes he keaps right on and then its no use to distrack him. Try tickleing unless tickleing is bad for measles."

This was a long note. Miss Theodosia did not smile this time because of the new sensitiveness in the region of her heart. When she read the second note, she held it a long time in her hand while something wet blistered it in spots.

"Please don't be mad if I worry a little for fear Elly Precious will throw off his cloes. He's a dreadfull throw-offer, so we pin his sides to the cloesbasket but maybe you don't sleep him in a cloesbasket. I couldent sleep last night.

"P.S. With safety pins."

Sometimes they were cheerful little letters that peeped under the tight crack. Evangeline wrote the news to Elly Precious. That Stefana's washes came easier now and Carruthers was good all the time, only they never let him be steam whistles, of course. That they all missed Elly Precious and hoped that they'd be short measles and, mercy gracious, yes, they loved him, and Aunt Sarah was knitting again.

As the baby began to convalesce (they were short measles) and could sit up on Miss Theodosia's lap in front of the window, Evangeline's most important assistance began. For Elly Precious had very restless occasions and even Miss Theodosia's new skill failed always to "distrack" him.

Evangeline established a stage of action outside the biggest-paned, lowest-silled window, where vision was least obscured from within. On that stage she danced wild, long dances, varying with each performance. It was amazing how she varied them—sometimes bending and bowing tirelessly, sometimes evolving remarkable skirt dances from legs and toes and whirling petticoats. She grimaced unweariedly as long as Elly Precious would laugh at her faces. When he tired of those, she impersonated a cow—a horse—and made cow-noises and horse-noises at the top of her voice, to carry to Elly Precious.

Day after day she came, and they watched her from the big-paned window—the baby and Miss Theodosia. It was a great help to the measles.

"I never saw such a child!" Miss Theodosia said to the Reformed Doctor.
"She never gets tired of doing it."

"Never was but one Evangeline—but she gets tired all right. Needn't tell me!"

"Then it's—love," Miss Theodosia said gently.

"It is," nodded he.

They had proceeded far in their acquaintance. Elly Precious had been so tiny a thing between them, as they ministered to him! It was not to be wondered at that they had drawn closer. After his professional "call," John Bradford fell into the way of lingering till she brought him tea.

"Talk about women loving tea!" she gibed gayly.

"Talk about it being the men that want three lumps!"

"That is queer, isn't it? We're the wrong way about; I like mine sweet and you don't want any sugar. We're the exceptions that prove the rule. If you'll hold Elly Precious a minute, I'll fill your cup."

"That will make three."

"'And I'll do it again, if you like—and again if you like!'" she quoted.

"Are you making stories now?" she asked him that day.

And he nodded gravely, "One—a love-story."

"Tell me about it! We want to hear it, don't we, Elly Precious? We love love-stories."

"Not yet. Not till it is a little farther along." He set the third cup down untasted. His face, as Miss Theodosia looked smilingly at it across the baby's head, had grown grave. She wondered simply. Miss Theodosia was not making a love-story.

"Will you tell us about it when it's farther along? About the heroine and how she likes being in a love-story? Mercy gracious, it must be exciting!"

"If I can find out how she likes it," was his enigmatic answer. "She may not work out as I want her to. Heroines are women, you know."

"Well, of all things! If you can't make your heroine behave, I don't see who can!"

"I don't," he said slowly. "But I shall do my best."

Another day, she had something to show him, and she made a little mystery of it at first. She and Elly Precious knew! It was something sweet—it could be worn, but you seldom looked at it. It was soft and hard, too. You could—kiss it! When it was empty you wanted to kiss it, and when it was full you had to!

"Show it to me!" he commanded; "think I can guess all that?"

She brought it and laid it in his hands, delighted like a girl.

"Feel of it—isn't it soft? And I never made one before, so it was hard! You seldom look at it, because it's worn in the dark. You'd like to kiss it now, it's so sweet, but when I put Elly Precious into it, you'll have to kiss it! There, didn't I tell you right?"

It was a little nightgown she had made for Elly Precious. He held it on his two big hands like something wonderful. Its little sleeves dangled over, and she caught one of them and squeezed it in a sort of soft ecstasy.

"It's so little!" she cried in a whisper. "Aren't you going to kiss it?"

"If you'll look away—I'm afraid to when you're looking."

"I won't look," she laughed. "You look, Elly Precious!"

The bath-times were the pleasantest to Miss Theodosia. Getting things together—little tub and powders and soaps and the fresh little clothes—was a beautiful beginning, and after that—after that, the deluge! The practice she had had washing that little ancient baby, in her former incarnation, stood Miss Theodosia in good stead! As she had bathed and rubbed and powdered her first baby eons ago, she bathed and rubbed and powdered this second one now. For she called Elly Precious her baby. That was their beautiful play.

"We'll keep it a secret, won't we?—just between you and me, dear! We won't even tell Evangeline that you're my darlin' dear," she crooned over this second baby. Elly Precious played the game; he was a little sport, was Elly Precious.

The morning after the little new-nightgown episode, the bath progressed thrillingly. That was, it seemed, the morning set by Elly Precious to give this new mother a glorious surprise. It could not be said that he had it up his little sleeve, being innocent of any manner of garment, but he had it prepared.

Miss Theodosia dried the tiny body and set it far forward on her knees, facing her, and began as usual:

"Now, baby, watch—watch hard! Make exactly the same noise I do." She put her lips in position for clear enunciation.

"Mam—m-ma."

Customarily, Elly Precious sat and chuckled gleefully and nakedly. This was a favorite play. But, oh, to-day—

"Mum—mum," said Elly Precious distinctly. Miss Theodosia caught him to her, slippery and sweet, with a cry of rapture.

"You said it! You said it, Elly Precious—darlin' dear! Now I shall wrap you in a beautiful soft blanket and sing you a jiggy tune! Before I dress you in horrid, bothery sleeves, we'll rock, and rock, you and make-believe mum-mum!"

The big chair creaked delightsomely to the ears of Elly Precious. To its accompaniment sang Miss Theodosia.

"Darlin' Dear! Darlin' Dear, Mum-Mum's here—oh, Elly Precious, I shall send you to college! Of course, to college. You shall be a doctor—" Was that the chair creaking, or a door? It was a door. On the doorsill stood the Reformed Doctor, gazing in. The blanket had slipped away and it was a beautiful, bare Elly Precious in Miss Theodosia's arms, against her breast. The little picture stood out, distinct. But so soon it faded. She was on her feet and facing that treacherous doorway. Flames burned on her cheeks.

"Is it anything to be ashamed of to pretend he is my baby! Well, I've done it—I'm pretending now. We were having a beautiful time till—"

"Till I came."

"Till you came. You heard what I said about making a doctor of him, I suppose?"

He nodded. "I heard," he said meekly.

"But you didn't give me time to say it all. I was going to say he'd stay a doctor and not reform!" With which Parthian shot, delivered with spirit, Miss Theodosia turned her back and Elly Precious' back to the intruder. What was left for him to do but retire, vanquished and diminished? The business of the bath went on, but joyless now. There was no further putting off of the horrid, bothery sleeves that Elly Precious abhorred. He set up indignant wails, and Miss Theodosia's soul wailed in unison.

"All our dear good time spoiled! We're not pretending any more; you're Evangeline's darlin' dear. I'll put you on the bed and give you your bottle." So abruptly had the beautiful game come to an end. Miss Theodosia went away to prepare the bottle. As she went, a glint of white underneath the door to out-of-doors caught her attention. Evangeline had not tucked it under as far as usual. Perhaps it was not unnatural, considering her new mood, that Miss Theodosia picked up the little letter almost impatiently.

"He says he can come home day after to-morrow if he don't colapse, so
Stefana is cleaning the house and I'm helping and we can't hardly wait.
We've got a new cloesbasket Stefana's going to make bows for the
handles, tell Elly Precious.

"P. S. Pink bows."

Miss Theodosia was not impatient as she folded the little letter again. Tears stood in her eyes. She hurried back, bottleless, to Elly Precious, to tell him. That he had fallen asleep made no difference.

"You are going home day after to-morrow! Dream it in a little dream, dear. When you wake up, it will be true. They can't hardly wait and there's a new 'cloesbasket' with bows—P. S., pink bows. Oh, Elly Precious, you know you're glad to go home! You've been pretending, too!" Game little Elly Precious, to pretend! She stooped and kissed his eyes, close shut in that dream of going home. "They are cleaning the house," she whispered, "they can't hardly wait."

A prescience of awful loneliness swept over her. She saw Theodosia Baxter—lone and babyless again—set back in her empty house. The curtain had gone down—would go down day after to-morrow—on the last beautiful act.

"But I have two days left! I demand my pound—fifteen little pounds of flesh!" Elly Precious' little pink flesh. She would play that last act of the little game of make-believe. Intruders or no intruders, she would play it! At once, she began again where they had left off.

"You will have to go to college very young, dear," she said. "They are going to take you away from me day after tomorrow. A day and a half is such a little college course; you'd be such a little Freshman, Elly Precious! So we will have to give it up, dear. We'll just spend our last days together. Who wants to know Latin and Greek anyway? I'll teach you to pat little cakes in English!" Surely, surely she must have taught her first baby to pat-a-cake. The blundering little hands in hers felt strangely familiar. The first baby had been just as funny and sweet as Elly Precious at that little lesson.

"If I only had a little more time!" sighed Miss Theodosia. "There is so much left for us to do; it is cruel to hurry us so! We might—we might run away, dear! You and I. To Europe and Asia and Africa! I'd show you all the wonders of the world. Listen, Elly Precious,—the pyramids! Wouldn't you love to see the pyramids? You could play in the warm sand, anyway,—bury your little twelve toes deep! We would keep watch all the time and run when we saw Evangeline coming. We would never stop to put on our shoes and stock—Elly Precious, you've gone to sleep!" So little was he thrilled at the prospect of pyramids.

Miss Theodosia rocked him gently in her arms. Perhaps she would rock him the whole day and a half—they could not prevent her! She would not stop rocking if twenty Reformed Doctors came and looked at her. She would rock in their faces!

A sudden and queer thought came to her of Cornelia Dunlap standing in the doorway, looking in as John Bradford had done.

She saw the wreck of Cornelia's plump calm—Cornelia's wide-eyed amazement. After she had reluctantly deposited the small, limp body upon the couch to finish out the nap, she got her writing materials and wrote to Cornelia Dunlap, with a whimsical little smile playing about her lips. Her pen moved fast across the sheet.

"The baby is having a beautiful nap. While he is asleep, I can write to you. Of course my time is limited—'what with' scalding and filling bottles and giving little baths—Cornelia Dunlap, go and get a little baby and wash him! In a tub, with your sleeves rolled up. Let him splash the water into your face—over your dress—hear him laugh! Give him the soap for a little ship a-sailing. Oh, Cornelia, teach him to pat-a-cake! Get a baby with the measles if there's no other way. You will love him in between all his little measles. But, listen to me; take this advice: Don't let them take him back! Hold on to both his little hands. Run away to Africa with him if there is no other way—he will love to play in the sand beside the pyramids. Send him to college, Cornelia, and I think—yes, make a doctor of him. Doctors are best.

"Morituri salutamus—we who are about to lose our babies and die wish you happiness with yours, is the free translation. Hold on to yours. He is a dear, I know. He may be as dear as mine, but he hasn't twelve toes!"

* * * * *

"Mercy gracious!"

It was the two days later and it was Evangeline. The child's radiant face lighted up the room.

"He let me come! I promised Stefana I wouldn't kiss him till I got him home so's she could, too. He said to kiss his neck or behind his ears." As usual no confusion of personal pronouns troubled Evangeline.

"Mercy gracious!—oh, mercy gracious, he's improved! He's fatter! I never thought measles'd be fattenin'! You're glad to see me, aren't you, darlin' dear? I'm Evangeline! I've come to take you home. We've got everything ready, only one bow, an' Stefana's piecin' that. Oh—my darlin' dear!"

The curtain had gone down. Theodosia Baxter stood quite alone in her big room. In her ears was suddenly the shriek of a steam whistle of welcome; it died away, and the silence ached. A crumpled something half under a chair caught her eye and she openly sobbed. It was a forgotten little nightgown.

"I'm going to Rome—I'm going to Paris—to Anywhere! I can't stand this!" she wailed. And then the creak of a door again.

He stood on the door-sill looking in.