“Sufferin’ heathen!” Scattergood said.  “What in tunket was it that woman said I sh’u’d do?  Hain’t they no way of shuttin’ him off?  Look-ee here, young feller, you jest quit it....  B’jing! here’s my watch.  You kin listen to it tick.”

The baby tried the watch on his toothless gums, found it not to his taste, and flung it from him with such vehemence that it would have suffered permanent injury but for the size and strength of the silver chain which attached it to Scattergood.  The cries became more maddening.  Scattergood was not hungry, so it did not occur to him that the infant might be thinking of food.  He dandled it, he whistled, he sang, he pointed out the interesting attributes of his horse, and promised to direct attention to a rabbit or even a deer in a moment, but nothing availed.  Perspiration was pouring down Scattergood’s face, and his expression was that of a man who devoutly wishes he were far otherwise than he is.

Half an hour of this seemed to Scattergood like the length of a sizable day—­and then he remembered the milk.  Frantically he fished it out of the basket and thrust it toward the young person, who did with it what seemed right to him, and, with a gurgle of satisfaction, settled down to business.  Scattergood sighed, wiped his forehead, and revised his opinion of folks who were worried at the prospect of travel with an infant.

The rest of that drive was a nightmare to Scattergood.  When the baby yelled he was in torment.  When the baby slept he was in torment lest he wake it, so that it would commence again to cry.  He sweat cold and he sweat hot, and he wished wishes in his secret heart and blamed himself for many things—­chief of which was that he had not brought Mandy along to bear the brunt of the adventure.

But at last, long after nightfall, with baby fast asleep, Scattergood drove into Coldriver by deserted and circuitous roads.  He stopped his horse in a dark spot on the edge of the village, and, with the baby cautiously held in his arms, he slunk through back ways and short cuts to the house where Jed and Martha Lewis made their home.  With meticulous stealth he passed through the gate, laid the baby on the doorstep, rang the bell long and determinedly, and then, with astonishing quiet and agility, hid himself in the midst of a clump of lilacs.

The door opened, and a light shone through upon the squirming bundle that lay upon the step.  A tentative cry issued from the baby; a bass exclamation issued from Jed Lewis.  “My Gawd!  Marthy, somebody’s left a baby here!”

Martha pushed past her husband and lifted the baby in her arms.  She said no word, but Scattergood could see her press it close, and, in the light that came through the door, could see the expression of her face.  It satisfied him.

“What we goin’ to do with the doggone thing?” Jed demanded.

Martha pushed past him into the house, and he followed, wordless, closing the door after them....  Scattergood remained for some time, and then slunk away....