WHEN Aggie predicted that the few months of waiting would pass quickly for Zoie, she was quite correct. They passed quickly for Aggie as well; but how about Jimmy? When he afterward recalled this interval in his life, it was always associated with long strands of lace winding around the legs of the library chairs, white things lying about in all the places where he had once enjoyed sitting or lying, late dinners, lonely breakfasts, and a sense of isolation from Aggie.

One evening when he had waited until he was out of all patience with Aggie, he was told by his late and apologetical spouse that she had been helping Zoie to redecorate her bedroom to fit the coming occasion.

“It is all done in pink and white,” explained Aggie, and then followed detailed accounts of the exquisite bed linens, the soft lovely hangings, and even the entire relighting of the room.

“Why pink?” asked Jimmy, objecting to any scheme of Zoie's on general principles.

“It's Alfred's favourite colour,” explained Aggie. “Besides, it's so becoming,” she added.

Jimmy could not help feeling that this lure to Alfred's senses was absolutely indecent, and he said so.

“Upon my word,” answered Aggie, quite affronted, “you are getting as unreasonable as Alfred himself.” Then as Jimmy prepared to sulk, she added coaxingly, “I was GOING to tell you about Zoie's lovely new negligee, and about the dear little crib that just matches it. Everything is going to be in harmony.”

“With Zoie in the house?” asked Jimmy sceptically.

“I can't think why you've taken such a dislike to that helpless child,” said Aggie.

A few days later, while in the midst of his morning's mail, Jimmy was informed that it was now time for him to conduct Aggie and Zoie to the Babies' Home to select the last, but most important, detail for their coming campaign. According to instructions, Jimmy had been in communication with the amused Superintendent of the Home, and he now led the two women forth with the proud consciousness that he, at least, had attended properly to his part of the business. By the time they reached the Children's Home, several babies were on view for their critical inspection.

Zoie stared into the various cribs containing the wee, red mites with puckered faces. “Oh dear!” she exclaimed, “haven't you any white ones?”

“These are supposed to be white,” said the Superintendent, with an indulgent smile, “the black ones are on the other side of the room.”

“Black ones!” cried Zoie in horror, and she faced about quickly as though expecting an attack from their direction.

“Which particular one of these would you recommend?” asked the practical Aggie of the Superintendent as she surveyed the first lot.

“Well, it's largely a matter of taste, ma'am,” he answered. “This seems a healthy little chap,” he added, and seizing the long white clothes of the nearest infant, he drew him across his arm and held him out for Aggie's inspection.

“Let's see,” cried Zoie, and she stood on tiptoe to peep over the Superintendent's elbow.

As for Jimmy, he stood gloomily apart. This was an ordeal for which he had long been preparing himself, and he was resolved to accept it philosophically.

“I don't think much of that one,” snipped Zoie. And in spite of himself. Jimmy felt his temper rising.

Aggie turned to him with a smile. “Which one do YOU prefer, Jimmy?”

“It's not MY affair,” answered Jimmy curtly.

“Since when?” asked Zoie.

Aggie perceived trouble brewing, and she turned to pacify Jimmy. “Which one do you think your FRIEND ALFRED would like?” she persisted.

“If I were in his place——” began Jimmy hotly.

“Oh, but you AREN'T,” interrupted Zoie; then she turned to the Superintendent. “What makes some of them so much larger than others?” she asked, glancing at the babies he had CALLED “white.”

“Well, you see they're of different ages,” explained the Superintendent indulgently.

“We told Mr. Jinks they must all be of the same age,” said Zoie with a reproachful look at Jimmy.

“What age is that?” asked the Superintendent.

“I should say a week old,” said Aggie.

“Then this is the one for you,” decided the Superintendent, designating his first choice.

“I think we'd better take the Superintendent's advice,” said Aggie complacently.

Zoie looked around the room with a dissatisfied air. Was it possible that all babies were as homely as these?

“You know, Zoie,” explained Aggie, divining her thought, “they get better looking as they grow older.”

“They couldn't look worse!” was Zoie's disgusted comment.

“Fetch it home, Jimmy,” said Aggie.

“What!” exclaimed Jimmy, who had considered his mission completed.

“You don't expect US to carry it, do you?” asked Aggie in a hurt voice.

The Superintendent settled the difficulty temporarily by informing them that the baby could not possibly leave the home until the mother had signed the necessary papers for its release.

“I thought all those details had been attended to,” said Aggie, and again the two women surveyed Jimmy with grieved disappointment.

“I'll get the mother's signature the first thing in the morning,” volunteered the Superintendent.

“Very well,” said Zoie, “and in the meantime, I'll send some new clothes for it,” and with a lofty farewell to the Superintendent, she and Aggie followed Jimmy down stairs to the taxi.

“Now,” said Zoie, when they were properly seated, “let's stop at a telegraph office and let Jimmy send a wire to Alfred.”

“Wait until we get the baby,” cautioned Aggie.

“We'll have it the first thing in the morning,” argued Zoie.

“Jimmy can send him a night-letter,” compromised Aggie, “that way Alfred won't get the news until morning.”

A few minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of Jimmy's office and with a sigh of thanksgiving he hurried upstairs to his unanswered mail.