Mrs. Nolan was annoyed. Partly because she was jealous of Hugo’s prowess—her own children had been feeble and dull. Partly because she was frightened—no matter how strong a person became, a baby had no right to be so powerful. Partly because she sensed that Mrs. Danner was not telling the whole truth. She suspected that the Danners had found a new way to raise children. “Well,” she said, “all I have to say is that it’ll damage him. It’ll strain his little heart. It’ll do him a lot of harm. If I had a child like that, I’d tie it up most of the time for the first few years.”

“Kate,” Mrs. Danner said unpleasantly, “I believe you would.”

Mrs. Nolan shrugged. “Well—I’m glad none of my children are freaks, anyhow.”

“I’ll get your sugar.”

In the afternoon the minister called. He talked of the church and the town until he felt his preamble adequate. “I was wondering why you didn’t bring your child to be baptized, Mrs. Danner. And why you couldn’t come to church, now that it is old enough?”

“Well,” she replied carefully, “the child is rather—irritable. And we thought we’d prefer to have it baptized at home.”

“It’s irregular.”

“We’d prefer it.”

“Very well. I’m afraid—” he smiled—“that you’re a little—ah—unfamiliar with the upbringing of children. Natural—in the case of the first-born. Quite natural. But—ah—I met Mrs. Nolan to-day. Quite by accident. And she said that you kept the child—ah—in an iron pen. It seemed unnecessarily cruel to me—”

“Did it?” Mrs. Danner’s jaw set squarely.

But the minister was not to be turned aside lightly. “I’m afraid, if it’s true, that we—the church—will have to do something about it. You can’t let the little fellow grow up surrounded by iron walls. It will surely point him toward the prison. Little minds are tender and—ah—impressionable.”

“We’ve had a crib and two pens of wood,” Mrs. Danner answered tartly. “He smashed them all.”

“Ah? So?” Lifted eyebrows. “Temper, eh? He should be punished. Punishment is the only mould for unruly children.”

“You’d punish a six-months-old baby?”

“Why—certainly. I’ve reared seven by the rod.”

“Well—” a blazing maternal instinct made her feel vicious. “Well—you won’t raise mine by a rod. Or touch it—by a mile. Here’s your hat, parson.” Mrs. Danner spent the next hour in prayer.