Scattergood entered the house, remained upward of an hour, and then reappeared, followed by Mrs. Patterson, seven children, an old man, and an old woman—­and in his arms was a baby whose lungs gave promise of a healthy manhood.

“Do this much, does he?” Scattergood asked, uneasily.

“Not more ’n most,” said Mrs. Patterson.

“Um!...  If he lets on to be hungry, what’s the best thing to feed him up on?  I got a bag of doughnuts and five-six sandriches and nigh on to half a apple pie in the buggy.”

“Feed him them,” said Mrs. Patterson, “and you’ll be like to hear some real yellin’.  What he’s doin’ now hain’t nothin’ but his objectin’ to you a-carryin’ him like he was a horse blanket....  You wait right there till I git a bottle of milk.  And I’ll fix you some sugar in a rag that you kin put into his mouth if he acts uneasy.  It’ll quiet him right off.”

“Much ’bleeged.  Hain’t had much experience with young uns.  Might’s well start now.  Bet me ’n this here one gits well acquainted ’fore we reach Coldriver.”

“’Twouldn’t s’prise me a mite,” replied Mrs. Patterson, with something that might have been a twinkle in her tired eyes.  “I almost feel I should go along with you.”

“G’-by, Mrs. Patterson,” said Scattergood, hastily, and he climbed into his buggy clumsily, placing the baby on the seat beside him, and holding it in place with his left arm.  “G’-by.”

The buggy rattled off.  The baby hushed suddenly and began to look at the horse.

“Kind of come to your senses, eh?” said Scattergood.  “Now you and me’s goin’ to git on fine if you jest keep your mouth shet.  If you behave yourself proper I dunno but what I kin find a stick of candy f’r you when we git there.”

Presently Scattergood looked down to find the baby asleep.  He drove slowly and cautiously, whispering what commands he felt were indispensable to his horse.  This delightful situation continued for upward of two hours, and Scattergood said to himself that folks who bothered about traveling with infants must be very easily worried.

“Jest as soon ride with this one clean to the Pacific coast,” he said.

And then the baby awoke.  It blinked and looked about it; it rubbed its eyes; it stared severely up at Scattergood; it opened its mouth tentatively, closed it again, and then—­and then it uttered such an ear-piercing, long-drawn shriek that the old horse jumped with fright.

“Hey, there!” said the startled Scattergood.  “Hey! what’s ailin’ you now?”

The baby closed his eyes, clenched his fists, kicked out with his legs, and gave himself up whole-heartedly to the exercise of his voice.

“Quit that,” said Scattergood.  “Now listen here; that hain’t no way to behave.  You won’t git that candy—­”

Louder and more piercing arose the baby’s cries.  Scattergood dropped the reins, lifted the baby to his knee, and jounced it up and down furiously, performing an act which he imagined to be singing, a thing he had heard was interesting and soothing to babies.  It did not even attract this one’s attention.