Chiswick could not understand them. She did not appreciate that it was ambition—she thought it was colic. She pepperminted Marjorie until the sight of the peppermint spoon made Marjorie tremble with rage, and when Marjorie had absorbed ounces and ounces of peppermint water, Chiswick decided that Marjorie was past the colic age, anyway.

Miss Vickers discovered what Marjorie wanted.

"I believe," she said, "that the child wants to sit up," and then she tried it. That is why Marjorie loved Miss Vickers and hated Chiswick—and peppermint—from that day onward.

It would have all ended there if Marjorie had been willing to compromise, but she was not willing. The first day she might have been willing, but when a person has cried steadily for three days and has fought such a good fight, she feels it her right to dictate terms. She would not compromise on an angle of forty-five degrees. She refused to be satisfied with a plump, downy pillow at her back. She would sit upright and alone, or yell.

Not that it mattered that she sat upright and unsupported, except that she could not. Miss Vickers would seat her so and steady her for a moment, but when the protecting hands were removed Marjorie unfailingly collapsed. Sometimes she sank backward upon her pillow waving her arms impotently, but usually she doubled disgracefully forward until her nose bumped against her knee, or toppled to one side or the other like a pulpy fallen idol. Her backbone was irritatingly pliable—somewhat like a wet rag in stiffness. It was a poor affair, as backbones go. She might quite as well not have had any. It made Marjorie remarkably angry.

She spent three entire days in a continuous round of being set up and crumpling down again into the various bunchy shapes, and each day her temper grew more violent. For the first time in her life she cried real tears.

Mrs. Fielding was usually busy. Her club life was engrossing, but when, for three days in succession, the index cards bore the words "Cried all day," she felt it her duty to investigate. She went to the nursery, indignant.

"Well, mam," said Chiswick, "I don't know how to stop her. My opinion is that it's temper. She will sit up, mam, and she can't. We set her up, like she wants, and then she topples down and hollers. She hollers if we do and she hollers if we don't. You can do a thing or you can leave it undone, and there ain't nothing else you can do. There ain't anything between them two ways. If there was we might suit her."

"You should distract her attention," said Mrs. Fielding.

"She won't distract," declared Chiswick. "She made up her mind to sit up alone—which she can't—and she gets in a temper over it, and her temper's getting worse right along."

Mrs. Fielding looked at her daughter doubtfully.

"Perhaps she needs a little punishment," she suggested, "but I am not sure that the latest authorities approve of punishment. I will let you know. I should like to consult others before acting."

Mrs. Fielding laid the matter before the Mothers' club at its next meeting. She found the Mothers' club to be frankly and openly divided on the question. Mothers who had at first held the most modern ideas had fallen into laxly illogical methods, and instead of taking broad views of the infant as a theoretical subject, had become rank individualists. Mrs. Jones could talk only of Johnny Jones and Mrs. Smith argued all questions to and from Susie Smith. Mrs. Fielding found no satisfaction there and at length appealed to the monthly convocation of the local federation of Women's clubs, which included the best intellect of all the women of the city. When the federation had finished considering the question, Mrs. Fielding found that she was one of a committee of four appointed to direct the growth of Marjorie in mind, body, and soul. The federation had undertaken to guide Marjorie through the pitfalls of infancy.

Miss Martha Wiles, of the Browning club, was made chairman of the committee; Miss Vesey, of the Higher Life circle, and Miss Loring, of the Physical Good guild, were members of it, and Mrs. Fielding was added at the last moment to represent the Mothers' club because the other members of the Mothers' club said they had enough to do to look after their own babies.

When the committee convened in the Fielding nursery to consider Marjorie's temper, Marjorie greeted it with a sweet smile. The committee sat on the sofa and Marjorie sat in her crib. She had conquered her backbone and was on good terms with it and the world again.

The committee entered upon its duties enthusiastically. It began by studying the records of Marjorie. It met daily to adopt rules and regulations and spent hours over the card cabinet until it became thoroughly acquainted with Marjorie's averages. Then it made out a schedule of normal development for mind and body.

Chiswick viewed the schedule skeptically.

"It's a nice schedule, mam, I'll say that much for it," she said, "but if the day comes when she's entered to creep, and she don't creep, what am I going to do about it?"

"It is your duty to see that she does creep," said Miss Wiles.

"Very well, mam," said Chiswick, "but may I ask one question?"

"You may. It is your duty to ask questions. Refer all your doubts to the committee," replied Miss Wiles.

"Then," said Chiswick, "answer me this. On page six of the records of the committee it says: 'Whereas, the lower strata of air in a room are the abiding places of millions of germs; and whereas, children playing upon the floor must breathe the said air; and whereas, children playing upon the floor take into their mouths and convey thence to their stomachs the said germs, as well as pins, lint, needles, buttons, and other indigestible and highly injurious substances. Therefore, be it resolved, that the said Marjorie Fielding shall never be allowed to sit, lie, recline, or rest upon the floor, nor upon any rug, blanket, or other covering upon the said floor.' What I want to know is, how the child is to learn to creep if she isn't to be allowed on the floor."

The committee looked at itself questioningly. Miss Loring giggled. Miss Wiles alone saved the day.

"You will, of course," she said, haughtily, "give the child her lessons in creeping upon a table. Mrs. Fielding will see that one is provided."

When the committee was gone Chiswick walked over to the crib where Marjorie lay and looked at her doubtfully. According to the schedule a creep was due from Marjorie in six weeks and Marjorie had only learned the art of sitting alone. Sitting alone at seven months is not bad progress for an incubator baby and Marjorie was rather proud of it.

"Well," said Chiswick, "you've got to do it, and if you've got to do it you might as well begin to learn now."

Marjorie was lifted and deposited upon her rotund little stomach, which protruded so much that she rocked back and forth upon it like a helpless hobby horse. She looked up at Chiswick appealingly but saw only a stern taskmistress.

"Lie that way a while," said Chiswick coldly. "Get used to it," and she went away.

Marjorie laid her cheek on the cool sheet and thought. It was a rather pleasant position. It gave her a comfortable compressed sensation below the waist. She liked it but she could not afford to be idle. She raised her head and peered around, as a tortoise peers, lengthening her neck. A foot beyond her reach she saw her rattle. She stretched her hands for it and only succeeded in bringing her pudgy little nose flat against the sheet. She kicked with her feet, but even that did not bring the rattle within reach; it only served to rock her gently to and fro on her stomach. Marjorie needed the rattle. She had still several