``Oh, no, not for--thirteen minutes,'' replied Billy, consulting the watch at her belt. ``But we never play with Baby more than five minutes at a time. My `Scientific Care of Infants' says it isn't wise; that with some babies it's positively dangerous, until after they're six months old. It makes them nervous, and forces their mind, you know,'' she explained anxiously. ``So of course we'd want to be careful. Bertram, Jr., isn't quite four, yet.''
``Why, yes, of course,'' murmured Alice, politely, stopping a pat-a-cake before it was half baked.
The infant, as if suspecting that he was being deprived of his lawful baby rights, began to fret and whimper.
``Poor itty sing,'' crooned Aunt Hannah, who, having divested herself of bonnet and gloves, came hurriedly forward with outstretched hands.
``Do they just 'buse 'em? Come here to your old auntie, sweetems, and we'll go walkee. I saw a bow-wow--such a tunnin' ickey wickey bow-wow on the steps when I came in. Come, we go see ickey wickey bow-wow?''
``Aunt Hannah, _please!_'' protested Billy, both hands upraised in horror. ``_Won't_ you say `dog,'
and leave out that dreadful `ickey wickey'?
Of course he can't understand things now, really, but we never know when he'll begin to, and we aren't ever going to let him hear baby-talk at all, if we can help it. And truly, when you come to think of it, it is absurd to expect a child to talk sensibly and rationally on the mental diet of `moo-moos' and `choo-choos' served out to them. Our Professor of Metaphysics and Ideology in our Child Study Course says that nothing is so receptive and plastic as the Mind of a Little Child, and that it is perfectly appalling how we fill it with trivial absurdities that haven't even the virtue of being accurate. So that's why we're trying to be so careful with Baby. You didn't mind my speaking, I know, Aunt Hannah.''
``Oh, no, of course not, Billy,'' retorted Aunt Hannah, a little tartly, and with a touch of sarcasm most unlike her gentle self. ``I'm sure Ishouldn't wish to fill this infant's plastic mind with anything so appalling as trivial inaccuracies.
May I be pardoned for suggesting, however,''
she went on as the baby's whimper threatened to become a lusty wail, ``that this young gentleman cries as if he were sleepy and hungry?''
``Yes, he is,'' admitted Billy.
``Well, doesn't your system of scientific training allow him to be given such trivial absurdities as food and naps?'' inquired the lady, mildly.
``Of course it does, Aunt Hannah,'' retorted Billy, laughing in spite of herself. ``And it's almost time now. There are only a few more minutes to wait.''
``Few more minutes to wait, indeed!'' scorned Aunt Hannah. ``I suppose the poor little fellow might cry and cry, and you wouldn't set that clock ahead by a teeny weeny minute!''
``Certainly not,'' said the young mother, decisively. ``My `Daily Guide for Mothers' says that a time for everything and everything in its time, is the very A B C and whole alphabet of Right Training. He does everything by the clock, and to the minute,'' declared Billy, proudly.
Aunt Hannah sniffed, obviously skeptical and rebellious. Alice Greggory laughed.
``Aunt Hannah looks as if she'd like to bring down her clock that strikes half an hour ahead,''
she said mischievously; but Aunt Hannah did not deign to answer this.
``How long do you rock him?'' she demanded of Billy. ``I suppose I may do that, mayn't I?''
``Mercy, I don't rock him at all, Aunt Hannah,'' exclaimed Billy.
``Nor sing to him?''
``Certainly not.''
``But you did--before I went away. I
remember that you did.''
``Yes, I know I did,'' admitted Billy, ``and Ihad an awful time, too. Some evenings, every single one of us, even to Uncle William, had to try before we could get him off to sleep. But that was before I got my `Efficiency of Mother and Child,' or my `Scientific Training,' and, oh, lots of others. You see, I didn't know a thing then, and I loved to rock him, so I did it--though the nurse said it wasn't good for him; but I didn't believe _her_. I've had an awful time changing; but I've done it. I just put him in his little crib, or his carriage, and after a while he goes to sleep.
Sometimes, now, he doesn't cry hardly any. I'm afraid, to-day, though, he will,'' she worried.
``Yes, I'm afraid he will,'' almost screamed Aunt Hannah, in order to make herself heard above Bertram, Jr., who, by this time, was voicing his opinion of matters and things in no uncertain manner.
It was not, after all, so very long before peace and order reigned; and, in due course, Bertram, Jr., in his carriage, lay fast asleep. Then, while Aunt Hannah went to Billy's room for a short rest, Billy and Alice went out on to the wide veranda which faced the wonderful expanse of sky and sea.
``Now tell me of yourself,'' commanded Billy, almost at once. ``It's been ages since I've heard or seen a thing of you.''
``There's nothing to tell.''
``Nonsense! But there must be,'' insisted Billy. ``You know it's months since I've seen anything of you, hardly.''
``I know. We feel quite neglected at the Annex,'' said Alice.
``But I don't go anywhere,'' defended Billy.
``I can't. There isn't time.''
``Even to bring us the extra happiness?''
smiled Alice.
A quick change came to Billy's face. Her eyes glowed deeply.
``No; though I've had so much that ought to have gone--such loads and loads of extra happiness, which I couldn't possibly use myself!
Sometimes I'm so happy, Alice, that--that I'm just frightened. It doesn't seem as if anybody ought to be so happy.''
``Oh, Billy, dear,'' demurred Alice, her eyes filling suddenly with tears.
