As we have seen, when Maxwell began his work in Durford, he was full of the enthusiasm of youth and inexperience. He was, however, heartily supported and encouraged in his efforts by all but Sylvester Bascom. Without being actively and openly hostile, the Senior Warden, under the guise of superior wisdom and a judicial regard for expediency, managed to thwart many of his projects. After each interview with Bascom, Maxwell felt that every bit of life and heart had been pumped out of him, and 97 that he was very young, and very foolish to attempt to make any change in “the good old ways” of the parish, which for so many years had stunted its growth and had acquired the immobility of the laws of the Medes and Persians.

But there was one parishioner who was ever ready to suggest new ventures to “elevate” the people, and to play the part of intimate friend and adviser to her good-looking rector, and that was Virginia Bascom. For some unknown reason “the people” did not seem to be acutely anxious thus to be elevated; and most of them seemed to regard Virginia as a harmless idiot with good intentions, but with positive genius for meddling in other people’s affairs. Being the only daughter of the Senior Warden, and the leading lady from a social standpoint, she considered that she had a roving commission to set people right at a moment’s notice; and there were comparatively few people in Durford on whom she had not experimented in one way or another. She organized a Browning club to keep the factory girls out of the streets evenings, a mothers’ meeting, an ethical culture society, and a craftman’s club, and, as she was made president of each, her time was quite well filled.

And now in her fertile brain dawned a brilliant idea, which she proceeded to propound to the rector. Maxwell 98 was non-committal, for he felt the matter was one for feminine judgment. Then she decided to consult Mrs. Burke—because, while Hepsey was “not in society,” she was recognized as the dominant personality among the women of the village, and no parish enterprise amounted to much unless she approved of it, and was gracious enough to assist. As Virginia told Maxwell, “Mrs. Burke has a talent of persuasiveness,” and so was “useful in any emergency.” If Mrs. Burke’s sympathies could be enlisted on behalf of the new scheme it would be bound to succeed.

As a matter of fact, Mrs. Burke had heard rumors of this new project of Virginia’s. It always went against the grain with Hepsey to say: “Don’t do it.” She was a firm believer in the teaching of experience: “Experience does it,” was her translation of the classic adage.

And so one morning found Virginia sitting opposite Mrs. Burke in the kitchen at Thunder Cliff, knitting her brows and poking the toe of her boot with the end of her parasol in an absent-minded way. This was symptomatic.

“Anything on your mind, Virginia? What’s up now?” Mrs. Burke began.

For a moment Virginia hesitated, and then replied: 99

“I am thinking of establishing a day-nursery to care for the babies of working women, Mrs. Burke.”

Mrs. Burke, with hands on her hips, gazed intently at her visitor, pushed up her under lip, scowled, and then observed thoughtfully:

“I wonder some one hasn’t thought of that before. Who’s to take care of the babies?”

“Mary Quinn and I, with the assistance of others, of course.”

“Are you sure that you know which is the business end of a nursing-bottle? Could you put a safety-pin where it would do the most good? Could you wash a baby without drownin’ it?”

“Of course I have not had much experience,” Virginia replied in a dignified and lofty way, “but Mary Quinn has, and she could teach me.”

“You’re thinkin’, I suppose, that a day-nursery would fill a long-felt want, or somethin’ like that. Who’s goin’ to pay the bills?”

“Oh, there ought to be enough progressive, philanthropic people in Durford to subscribe the necessary funds, you know. It is to be an auxiliary to the parish work.”

“Hm! What does Mr. Maxwell say?”

“Well, he said that he supposed that babies were 100 good things in their way; but he hadn’t seen many in the village, and he didn’t quite realize what help a day-nursery would be to the working women.”

“That doesn’t sound mighty enthusiastic. Maybe we might get the money; but who’s to subscribe the babies?”

“Why, the working women, of course.”

“They can’t subscribe ’em if they haven’t got ’em. There are mighty few kids in this town; and if you really want my candid opinion, I don’t think Durford needs a day-nursery any more than it needs an icebox for cherubim. But then of course that doesn’t matter much. When you goin’ to begin?”

“Next Monday. We have rented the store where Elkin’s grocery used to be, and we are going to fit it up with cribs, and all the most up-to-date conveniences for a sanitary day-nursery.”

“Hm! Well, I’ll do all I can to help you, of course. I suppose you’ll find babies pushin’ all over the sidewalk Monday mornin’, comin’ early to avoid the rush. Better get down as early as possible, Virginia.”

Virginia departed.

After the furnishing of the incipient nursery had been completed, and each little crib had a new unbreakable doll whose cheeks were decorated with 101 unsuckable paint, Virginia and Mary Quinn—invaluable in undertaking the spadework of all Virginia’s parish exploits—gave an afternoon tea to which all the subscribers and their friends were invited. But when everything was in readiness for patronage, what few working women there were in Durford, possessed of the right kind of babies, seemed strangely reluctant to trust their youthful offspring to the tender mercies of Virginia Bascom and Mary Quinn.

Consequently, the philanthropic movement, started under such favorable patronage, soon reached a critical stage in its career, and Mrs. Burke was called in to contribute some practical suggestions. She responded to the summons with all due promptness, and when she arrived at the nursery, she smilingly remarked:

“Hm! But where are the babies? I thought they would be swarming all over the place like tadpoles in a pool.”

“Well, you see,” Virginia began, her voice quivering with disappointment, “Mary Quinn and I have been sitting here four mortal days, and not a single infant has appeared on the scene. I must say that the working women of Durford seem strangely unappreciative of our efforts to help them.”

“Well,” Mrs. Burke responded, “I suppose day-nurseries 102 without babies are as incomplete as an incubator without eggs. But after all, it hardly seems worth while to go out and snatch nursing infants from their mother’s breasts just to fill a long-felt want, does it? Besides, you might get yourself into trouble.”

“I didn’t ask you to come and make fun of me,” Virginia replied touchily. “I wanted you to make some suggestions to help us out. If we don’t get any babies, we might just as well close our doors at once. I should be awfully mortified to have the whole thing a failure, after all we have done, and all the advertising we have had.”

Mrs. Burke sat down and assumed a very judicial expression.

“Well, Ginty dear, I’m awful sorry for you; I don’t doubt you done the best you could. It’d be unreasonable to expect you to collect babies like mushrooms in a single night. All true reformers are bound to strike snags, and to suffer because they aint appreciated in their own day and generation. It’s only after we are gone and others take our places that the things we do are appreciated. You’ll have to resign yourself to fate, Virginia, and wait for what the newspapers call ‘the vindicatin’ verdict of prosperity.’ Think of all the people that tried to do 103 things and didn’t do ’em. Now there’s the Christian martyrs––”

For some reason Virginia seemed to have a vague suspicion that Hepsey was still making fun of her; and being considerably nettled, she interjected tartly:

“I’m not working for the verdict of posterity, and I don’t care a flip for the Christian martyrs. I’m trying to conduct a day-nursery, here and now; we have the beds, and the equipment, and some money, and––”

“But you haven’t got the babies, Virginia!”

“Precisely, Mrs. Burke. It’s simply a question of babies, now or never. Babies we must have or close our doors. I must confess that I am greatly pained at the lack of interest of the community in our humble efforts to serve them.”

For some time Hepsey sat in silence; then she smiled as if a bright idea occurred to her.

“Why not borrow a few babies from the mothers in town, Virginia? You see, you might offer to pay a small rental by the hour, or take out a lease which could be renewed when it expired. What is lacking is public confidence in your enterprise. If you and Miss Quinn could be seen in the nursery windows dandlin’ a baby on each arm, and singin’ lullabies to ’em for a few days, it’d attract attention, inspire faith 104 in the timid, and public confidence would be restored. The tide of babies’d turn your way after a while, and the nursery would prove a howlin’ success.”

Virginia considered the suggestion and, after deep thought, remarked:

“What do you think we ought to pay for the loan of a baby per hour, Mrs. Burke?”

“Well, of course I haven’t had much experience rentin’ babies, as I have been busy payin’ taxes and insurance on my own for some years; then you see rents have gone up like everything lately. But I should think that ten cents an afternoon ought to be sufficient. I think I might be able to hunt up a baby or two. Mrs. Warren might lend her baby, and perhaps Mrs. Fletcher might add her twins. I’ll call on them at once, if you say so.”

Virginia looked relieved, and in a voice of gratitude responded:

“You are really very, very kind.”

“Well, cheer up, Virginia; cheer up. Every cloud has its silver linin’; and I guess we can find some babies somewhere even if we have to advertise in the papers. Now I must be goin’, and I’ll stop on the way and make a bid for the Fletcher twins. Good-by.”

When Nicholas Burke learned from his mother of 105 the quest of the necessary babies, he started out of his own motion and was the first to arrive on the scene with the spoils of victory, in the shape of the eighteen-months infant of Mrs. Thomas McCarthy, for which he had been obliged to pay twenty-five cents in advance, the infant protesting vigorously with all the power of a well developed pair of lungs. As Nickey delivered the goods, he remarked casually:

“Say, Miss Virginia, you just take the darn thing quick. He’s been howlin’ to beat the band.”

“Why, Nickey,” exclaimed Virginia, entranced, and gingerly possessing herself of James McCarthy, “however did you get him?”

“His ma wouldn’t let me have him at first; and it took an awful lot of jollyin’ to bring her round. Of course I didn’t mean to tell no lies, but I said you was awful fond of kids. I said that if you only had Jimmy, it would give the nursery a dandy send-off, ’cause she was so well known, and Mr. McCarthy was such a prominent citizen. When she saw me cough up a quarter and play with it right under her nose, I could see she was givin’ in; and she says to me, ‘Nickey, you can take him just this once. I’d like to help the good cause along, and Miss Bascom, she means well.’ Ma’s gettin’ after the Fletcher twins for you.” 106

James McCarthy was welcomed with open arms, was washed and dressed in the most approved antiseptic manner; his gums were swabed with boracic acid, and he was fed from a sterilized bottle on Pasteurized milk, and tucked up in a crib with carbolized sheets, and placed close to the window where he could bask in actinic rays, and inhale ozone to his heart’s content. Thus the passer-by could see at a glance that the good work had begun to bear fruit.

Mrs. Burke managed to get hold of the Fletcher twins, and as they both howled lustily in unison, all the time, they added much to the natural domesticity of the scene and seemed to invite further patronage, like barkers at a side-show. Mrs. Warren was also persuaded.

Although the village was thoroughly canvassed, Miss Bascom was obliged to content herself with the McCarthy baby and the Fletcher twins, and the Warren baby, until, one morning, a colored woman appeared with a bundle in her arms. As she was the first voluntary contributor of live stock, she was warmly welcomed, and a great fuss made over the tiny black infant which gradually emerged from the folds of an old shawl “like a cuckoo out of its cocoon,” as Mary Quinn remarked. This, of course, was very nice and encouraging, but most unfortunately, 107 when night came, the mother did not appear to claim her progeny, nor did she ever turn up again. Of course it was a mere oversight on her part, but Virginia was much disturbed, for, to her very great embarrassment, she found herself the undisputed possessor of a coal black baby. She was horrified beyond measure, and sent at once for Mrs. Burke.

“What shall I do, what shall I do, Mrs. Burke?” she cried. Mrs. Burke gazed musingly at the writhing black blot on the white and rose blanket, and suggested:

“Pity you couldn’t adopt it, Virginia. You always loved children.”

“Adopt it!” Virginia screamed hysterically. “What in the world can you be thinking of?”

“Well, I can’t think of anything else, unless I can persuade Andy Johnston, the colored man on the farm, to adopt it. He wouldn’t mind its complexion as much as you seem to.”

Virginia brightened considerably at this suggestion, exclaiming excitedly:

“Oh Mrs. Burke, do you really think you could?”

“Well, I don’t know. Perhaps so. At any rate, if we offer to help pay the extra expense, Mrs. Johnston might bring the baby up as her own. Then they can name it Virginia Bascom Johnston, you see.” 108

Virginia bit her lip, but she managed to control her temper as she exclaimed quite cheerfully:

“Mrs. Burke, you are so very kind. You are always helping somebody out of a scrape.”

“Don’t overpraise me, Virginia. My head’s easily turned. The teachin’s of experience are hard—but I guess they’re best in the end. Well, send the poor little imp of darkness round to me to-night, and I’ll see that it has good care.”

As a matter of fact, Hepsey had qualms of conscience as to whether she should not, at the outset, have discouraged the whole baby project; experience threatened to give its lesson by pretty hard knocks, on this occasion.

For though the immediate problem was thus easily solved, others presented themselves to vex the philanthropic Virginia.

When on the tenth day the rental for the Warren baby and the Fletcher twins fell due, and the lease of James McCarthy expired without privilege of renewal, the finances of the nursery were at a very low ebb. It certainly did not help matters much when, towards night, Mary Quinn called Virginia’s attention to the fact that there were unmistakable signs of a bad rash on the faces of the twins, and very suspicious spots on the cheeks of the Warren baby. Even the 109 antiseptic James McCarthy blushed like a boiled lobster, and went hopelessly back on his sterilized character. Of course the only thing to be done was to send at once for the doctor, and for the mothers of the respective infants. When the doctor arrived he pronounced the trouble to be measles; and when the mothers made their appearance, Virginia learned something of the unsuspected resources of the English language served hot from the tongues of three frightened and irate women. Finally the floor was cleared, and the place closed up for disinfection.

Just before she left, Virginia dropped into a chair and wept, quite oblivious of the well-meant consolations of Mary Quinn, sometime co-partner in “The Durford Day-Nursery for the Children of Working Women.”

“We’ve done the very best we could, Miss Bascom; and it certainly isn’t our fault that the venture turned out badly. Poor babies!”

At this the sobbing Virginia was roused to one last protest:

“Mary Quinn, if ever you say another word to me about babies, I’ll have you arrested. I just hate babies, and—and everything! Why, there comes Mr. Maxwell! Say, Mary, you just run and get me a wet towel to wipe my face with, while I hunt for my 110 combs and do up my back hair. And then if you wouldn’t mind vanishing for a while—I’m sure you understand—for if ever I needed spiritual consolation and the help of the church, it is now, this minute.”