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Daisy entered the hall first, vainly attempting to hide her excitement, while Florence followed in haughty disdain.

“Where did you get the baby?” demanded Edith, in amazement. “Do let me see!”

“Oh, the poor thing needs a bath!” said Mrs. Evans, taking it from Daisy’s arms. “And is probably hungry, too!”

In broken sentences, Daisy managed to tell her story, apologizing profusely for her audacity in bringing the child to her hostess’s home. But both Mrs. Evans and Edith immediately silenced her by assuring her of their sanction of her deed.

“It’s exactly what I would have done myself,” said Mrs. Evans, “and I am so glad you were there to offer, for such a thing never would have occurred to Florence.”

“Hardly!” remarked her younger daughter. “I’m too practical; I’d have counted the cost first.”

“Oh, we’ll get the money somehow!” asserted Daisy, confidently. “I’ll put it up to Marj Wilkinson, and she’ll find a way!” Ever since Marjorie had been so instrumental in uniting her sister Olive with her husband, Daisy had come to regard her as resourceful in a crisis of almost any variety.