On the neat bed lay a baby asleep.
"Hunkie!" Gloria said softly, as she tiptoed across the room and looked
down at the thin little face.
"It seems a tiny morsel of humanity to get hold of life, doesn't
it?" said the nurse. "But Rose is so careful of it, and Dinney is so
insistent that it shall have everything it needs."
Then she turned to Gloria. "Now sit down and make yourself comfortable,
and wait for me. You are not fit to go around with me now. Rose will be
here in a little while, doubtless."
Gloria dropped into a chair. Left to herself, she looked around the
plain little room. Her eyes took in the pitiful details--the uneven
boards of the floor, the sagging ceiling, the cracked window panes. How
sharply the room contrasted with her own, and yet this was the room of
Rose--with eyes like hers. A girl who had thoughts and dreams and
aspirations the same as she had. As these thoughts went through
Gloria's mind she leaned back. The strain of excitement had told on her.
Exhaustion took possession of her. She did not intend to sleep, but her
eyes closed against her will. How long she sat thus she did not know,
but in time there came to her a consciousness of whispering in the room
and a baby's laugh.
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