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 Dot laughed. His fingers had moved. He was alive. His fingers couldn't move if he were dead. She laughed, and the tears poured down her face.

"Baby, baby!"

She squeezed him to her body and laughed hysterically, with her face buried in his blanket.

The baby's eyes opened. His mouth made itself ready for a series of strong arguments against getting crushed.

"No, no cry, sweetheart." Dot loosened her grip upon the infant. "What can Mommie give you to make you happy?"

It seemed important to give him something to reward him for keeping alive the little body that was so dear to her. Still laughing and crying, she offered him in turn the pink tassels on her kimono, her wedding ring, the rhinestone barrette from her hair. None of these things interested him.

Dot offered her breast. His little mouth groped for it and fastened itself. She felt the blessed suction of his little mouth. For more than fifteen minutes he suckled gleefully, making happy little crooning noises.

Dot uttered a glad cry when at length, satisfied and exhausted, the infant fell back upon her arm and slept.

She kissed him and giggled. She knew she was laughing. It seemed foolish, but she couldn't stop. She was crying, too. He was alive, and he had taken food. The warm bundle nestled in her arms, and she cried and laughed and talked aloud.

It was Mrs. Vernon who, after thirty minutes had passed, came to the nursery. She found Dot brilliant-eyed and feverish, telling her baby about the dresses she had made for him.

It was Mrs. Vernon who put the baby in his bassinet and who led Dot back to the ward and tucked her into bed.

It was Mrs. Vernon who late that afternoon wrote to