hundred shakes to give it before her day's work would be complete. And the rattle needed Marjorie; it looked forlorn and lonely. Even as she considered the matter Marjorie found that she was raising her body on her plump little arms. They were acting like little posts to elevate her shoulders and head. Then, in a most phenomenal way, one knee doubled itself and drew up under her body, and the other followed it, and she was on her hands and knees.

From this frightfully elevated position the rattle appeared quite near, so near that it seemed as if she could touch it. She put out a hand, and lo! the whole fabric of herself that she had reared, collapsed, and she was sprawled flat on the sheet.

But the rattle certainly seemed nearer. She tried it again, and this time she put her hand forward only a little way, and followed it with the other, but she was firmly anchored at the rear, and there was no elasticity in her body. It would not stretch another inch. She thought of her legs reproachfully. But for them she might even now have the rattle. Her legs felt the reproach and wiggled with shame. They knew they were in disgrace and they longed to come closer and nestle lovingly against Marjorie. One of them moved forward slowly and paused. Its fellow, fearing it was being deserted, moved up beside it, but cruel Marjorie moved her hands forward again.

She could almost touch the rattle! One more forward movement of her legs and—

Chiswick, turning, saw it just in time. She was beside the crib in one bound, and her right hand pressed down upon Marjorie and squeezed her deep into the softness of the crib, and held her there kicking and squealing.

"Land sakes!" cried Chiswick. "You're breaking the schedule! You can't creep now. The idea! What will that there committee say! What will they say of you to that federation of clubs! You and me won't have no reputation left. Don't you ever creep till I say so. Never!"

She picked up the offended Marjorie and set her upright in the end of the crib. Marjorie rolled over upon her hands and knees. She wanted the rattle. She scoffed at schedules. Chiswick held her down with one hand and reached for the rattle with the other.

"Now I've got to watch you day and night," she grumbled, "or we'll be having resolutions made about us, and things voted, and land knows what! You'd break the whole constitution and by-laws, you would."

Marjorie smiled gleefully, and struggled to free herself. Chiswick tied her to the head of the crib with a strip of antiseptic bandage; and entered in the day book: "Tried to creep; restrained by nurse."

When the committee met again they passed a resolution of thanks to Chiswick for her prompt action, and Marjorie's private secretary entered it on the records. As she wrote the last word she looked at Marjorie and winked, and Marjorie smiled wickedly.

There were hours when Chiswick was off duty, and then the private secretary was left alone in charge of Marjorie, and those were hours of riotous living. The private secretary was scientific—as a bookkeeper—but as a nurse she was ignorantly human.

She scoffed at the Higher Life for Women; she ate candy and avoided as much as possible her physical good. She refused to be emancipated. She had an idea it meant something in the way of doing without lacing and wearing shoes a size too large for one.

So when she was left alone with Marjorie they had a good time. They sat on the floor and imbibed germs, and they did all sorts of unscientific, retrogressive things. Perhaps that was why Marjorie remained a sweet, cheerful baby instead of becoming a sour little old woman.

One evening when Chiswick was away the private secretary and Marjorie were having a romp on the floor of the nursery. It was a handicap race, a creeping match, and the private secretary was handicapped by her skirts. The two were so interested that they did not hear the nursery door open. When Marjorie had won the twenty-foot dash the private secretary turned, and blushed with confusion and guilt. Mr. Fielding stood in the doorway! A frown darkened his brow and he looked at the private secretary with severity.

Miss Vickers sprang to her feet hastily and brushed out the folds of her skirt.

"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Fielding. "So this is how you behave! This is what you may be expected to do when you are trusted alone with the child! What do you suppose Mrs. Fielding and the committee would say?"

The private secretary laughed. Marjorie laughed and clapped her hands. Mr. Fielding frowned and picked Marjorie up. He put her in the crib, and Marjorie, rudely taken from her playmate by this stern man, lifted up her voice and wailed. She turned red in the face and howled. There was a swish of silk skirts—which never should be worn in the nursery—a rush of feet, and a hand pushed Mr. Fielding aside. With one sweep of her arms the private secretary gathered Marjorie to her breast.

"What did you do to her?" she cried. "Much you know about babies, and all your silly committees!"

Mr. Fielding paused irresolute. Marjorie cooed gently in her protector's arms, and her father looked at her curiously.

"You—you don't believe in scientific motherhood?" he said to Miss Vickers. He seemed to be asking for information; seeking light on a question that had already raised itself in his mind.

"'Scientific' doesn't hurt any, but it needs some mother with it," she replied. "See her smile!" Mr. Fielding leaned forward cautiously.

"She does, doesn't she?" he said, with curiosity. "I never saw that before. It is quite interesting."

"It's great!" exclaimed the private secretary. "You take her a minute and I'll show you something else."

Mr. Fielding took her, carefully.

The private secretary clapped her hands and Marjorie looked toward her.

"Two hands, baby," she said, and the two pink arms reached out to her.

"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Fielding, "How human!"

"See if she will do it for you," suggested the girl.

Mr. Fielding clapped his hands. "Two hands!" he said.

Marjorie looked at him good naturedly. If he was willing to play she could forgive everything. She reached out her hands, and jumped toward her father. Before he knew how it happened, he had pressed his lips to her soft cheek and her hands were entangled in his hair.

When the doorbell rang, half an hour later, Mr. Fielding was on his hands and knees playing "peek-boo!" with Marjorie. Miss Vickers swept her into her crib and helped him to arise hastily. Then she pushed him toward the door.

"It is Chiswick!" she whispered. "Hurry!"

"Yes!" he whispered in return. "We—we will keep this matter private? It is not necessary to inform any one."

The private secretary watched him nervously while he gave Marjorie a last, long kiss, and then she pushed him gently from the nursery. She really had to push him out.

When Mrs. Fielding was appointed to read a paper on Scientific Motherhood at the annual convention of the national federation of Women's clubs, she accepted the task with due modesty but not without a sense of complete fitness. Her mere presence in the distant convention city would in itself be a proof of the correctness of her theories. Under what other system could a mother leave her young baby and devote a week's absence to club duties? She felt quite at ease, however, for the three remaining members of the committee of four were in charge of Marjorie's welfare, and back of the committee was the entire