"This one's a lamb." Miss Parsons had another baby now.
"Yes," said Dot, gazing at it obligingly.
"He has such tiny hands," said Miss Parsons.
She made no move to take the baby away, and it suddenly dawned upon Dot that this was her baby. She put up her hands to take him, but Miss Parsons waved them away and laid the baby gently at Dot's side.
Dot looked at him. Oh, such a red little face, such a tiny, tiny little mouth, such a perky little nose, and the golden down on his little pink scalp. His eyelids opened just the tiniest bit, and she saw how blue his eyes were. He had tiny hands indeed, and beautifully shaped little nails. Alas, she could see no more of him, for he was blanketed and pinned beyond hope of even the smallest glimpse. She was almost afraid to touch him; he seemed so fragile and breakable.
"Say," Miss Parsons' voice cut in on the exploration, "what are you going to do? Play with the baby all morning? Aren't you going to feed him?"
"Feed him!" echoed Dot.
"Certainly. Do you think he lives on air?"
Dot looked around. The other babies were placidly nursing at their mothers' breasts.
Dot quickly untied the ribbon on her nightgown. Miss Parsons hurried over and applied boric acid to the breast for the baby's safety. It was by this that Dot knew that Miss Parsons had been teasing her. She would have been made to wait for the boric acid had she attempted to feed her baby any sooner.
He wouldn't nurse. Blindly his little hands groped against her breast and pushed. His head wobbled and rocked with objections.
"He won't eat," said Dot.
"That's all right," said Miss Parsons. "You haven't
