She pointed to the corner of the wall, where hung what I had believed to be an old Indian relic.  To my consternation, it was a bark “papoose-case,” occupied by a living child, swathed and bandaged after the approved Indian fashion.  It was asleep, I believe, but it opened a pair of bright huckleberry eyes, set in the smallest of features, that were like those of a carved ivory idol, and uttered a “coo” at the sound of its mother’s voice.  She stood on one side with unruffled composure, while Enriquez threw himself into an attitude before it, with clasped hands, as if it had been an image of the Holy Child.  For myself, I was too astounded to speak; luckily, my confusion was attributed to the inexperience of a bachelor.

“I have adopted,” said Mrs. Saltillo, with the faintest touch of maternal pride in her manner, “what I am convinced is the only natural and hygienic mode of treating the human child.  It may be said to be a reversion to the aborigine, but I have yet to learn that it is not superior to our civilized custom.  By these bandages the limbs of the infant are kept in proper position until they are strong enough to support the body, and such a thing as malformation is unknown.  It is protected by its cradle, which takes the place of its incubating-shell, from external injury, the injudicious coddling of nurses, the so-called ‘dancings’ and pernicious rockings.  The supine position, as in the adult, is imposed only at night.  By the aid of this strap it may be carried on long journeys, either by myself or by Enriquez, who thus shares with me, as he fully recognizes, its equal responsibility and burden.”

“It—­certainly does not—­cry,” I stammered.

“Crying,” said Mrs. Saltillo, with a curve of her pretty red lip, “is the protest of the child against insanitary and artificial treatment.  In its upright, unostentatious cradle it is protected against that injudicious fondling and dangerous promiscuous osculation to which, as an infant in human arms, it is so often subjected.  Above all, it is kept from that shameless and mortifying publicity so unjust to the weak and unformed animal.  The child repays this consideration by a gratifying silence.  It cannot be expected to understand our thoughts, speech, or actions; it cannot participate in our pleasures.  Why should it be forced into premature contact with them, merely to feed our vanity or selfishness?  Why should we assume our particular parental accident as superior to the common lot?  If we do not give our offspring that prominence before our visitors so common to the young wife and husband, it is for that reason solely; and this may account for what seemed the forgetfulness of Enriquez in speaking of it or pointing it out to you.  And I think his action in calling you back to see it was somewhat precipitate.  As one does not usually introduce an unknown and inferior stranger without some previous introduction, he might have asked you if you wished to see the baby before he recalled you.”