The Incubator Baby

  Produced by David Widger

  THE INCUBATOR BABY

  By Ellis Parker Butler

  Author Of "Pigs Is Pigs," Etc.

  Illustrated by May Wilson Preston

  Funk & Wagnalls Company New York And London

  1906

  I

  On the sunniest slope of the garden of Paradise the trees stand in long,pleasant rows. The air is always balmy, and the trees are forever inbloom with pink and white blossoms. From a distance the trees looklike apple trees, but, close at hand, you see that the pink and whiteblossoms are little bows and streamers of ribbon and that the boughs areswaying gently with the weight of many dimpled babies.

  Walking up and down beneath the trees are kind old storks, and as theywalk they turn their heads, looking upward to see where there may be asweet pink and white baby ready to be carried away, out of the gardeninto the big, strange world. It is a vast garden, and there are manytrees and many storks, and every moment there is a whirring of strongwings and a stork has passed out of the confines of the garden with thedearest gift that Heaven can give to woman.

  The storks are very grave and very careful, but that is because onlystorks of mature age are allowed to carry the precious babies. Theyounger storks may stand on one leg and watch their elders, or they mayhop awkwardly between the trees to amuse the babies, but they are neverpermitted to pick the babies from their leafy cradles, nor to attemptsuch a delicate undertaking as flying away with them into the outsideworld.

  But one day the very youngest of the storks got into mischief and beforeits elders knew what it was about it had flown into one of the trees. Ittried to lift one of the biggest, plumpest, prettiest of the babies, butit was such a small stork it could do no more than make the baby sway toand fro on its branch, so it picked the very smallest baby on the tree,and carried it straight to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Fielding, andleft it there rather unexpectedly.

  If ever there was a surprised baby it was Marjorie Fielding. She didnot care for the Vernon Fielding home in the least. She vastly preferredParadise; it was far more comfortable, and she had just made a decisionto return there immediately, when a very remarkable thing happened. Itseemed to Marjorie that the Fieldings cared as little for her as shecared for the atmosphere of their home, for she was rolled in softcotton, wrapped again and again in flannel cloths, and a large man withsoft hands carried her away.

  When she awoke she had an impression that she must be back on her owntwig in the garden of Paradise. The air was soft and balmy and verywarm, but when she opened her eyes everything was strange. There wereno trees, no gently swaying branches, and no kindly old storks paradingbelow her. Instead, she gazed into dozens of faces that peered at hercuriously. They were faces of men and women, and those in the back rowstried, by twisting and turning and peering through small openings, toget as clear a view as those in the front row had. There were all sortsof faces and they showed all sorts of emotions. Some expressed themost violent curiosity, some were softened by kindly pity, some woreexpressions of disappointment as if the show was not as interesting asthey had expected, and some showed a certain weak disgust.

  Marjorie wondered lazily why they were there. Probably they were someamusement contrived by a mistaken person for her entertainment. If so,she wished the amusement discontinued; it had too many eyes in it.

  "Isn't it wonderful!" she heard one of the faces say. "Before theinvention of incubators nearly every one of them died, and now theyhardly lose one in ten;" and another said, disdainfully: "And to think Ipaid me decent money to see dis! I'm easy, I am. Come on, let's shootthe chutes;" but one face, a sweet face, said:

  "Poor, dear, sweet little baby. It makes my heart ache," and Marjorieliked that face. She fixed her eyes on it and for the first time in hervery few hours of life something in her own heart pulled toward a face.She wanted that face to stay there; it was motherly. That was it, theface was motherly, and deep in the small heart of Marjorie there was adesire to be mothered and loved, but the face passed on and never cameback again.

  From the first day the incubator people were proud of Marjorie. She wasthe smallest baby of all those in the long row of incubators; "one poundand eight ounces when born," the placard above her incubator said; butshe grew rapidly. When she was sixteen days old she weighed two pounds,and after that you could see her grow. She slept a great deal, and wasfed constantly and her crystal palace was like a little hothouse.

  For several days, shortly after her arrival, she was greatly worried bya man who seemed to have a desire to flirt with her. He stood near athand all day, and hardly took his eyes off her, and then only to examinethe thermostat that regulated the heat in her nest. He seemed to be moreanxious than the nurse that Marjorie should not be baked too brown, andfrom time to time he made ridiculous passes at her with his hands orscrewed his face into peculiar shapes that sought to be amusing. It wasmost disconcerting.

  Marjorie tried to appear unconscious of all his antics. When she couldnot avoid looking at him she stared at him coldly, but that did not seemto dishearten him. Even a cold glance filled him with joy, and once,when she was preparing a little cry and had screwed her face into theprescribed shape, he grasped the attendant by the arm and exclaimed:"She's smiling! Isn't she smiling?" Marjorie was quite ashamed, he wasso idiotically ecstatic. She learned later that he was her father, andthat for some reason fathers have a right to do that sort of thing. Infact, it is rather nice when one gets used to it.

  But the great day was the day of her mother's coming. The nurse hadprepared Mar jorie for it. "Little girl, your mother is coming to-day."

  Marjorie watched closely for her mother all that day. She scanned thefaces that came and went, picking out those she thought might be hermother, but she could not be sure, for they all passed by. All the facesshe chose were kind young faces, and she was rather surprised when hermother finally came. She did not recognize her for quite a while.

  A tall lady came to the incubator in company with the nurse. Sheexamined the incubator carefully, and asked a great many questionsabout temperature, the sanitation, alimentation and digestion and otherscientific things. She examined the record chart carefully, and askedthe nurse if Marjorie's weight was not increasing less than the properaverage, and when the nurse assured her that Marjorie was surpassing theaverage she objected to that and said that she had no desire for her togrow so rapidly she would be soft and pulpy. Then she examined the nursecarefully and critically regarding her experience with babies, andall the while she made notes in a small memorandum book. She copiedeverything on the record chart, and asked to have Marjorie weighed, andput the weight down in the little memorandum book.

  "I wish to be very careful and exact," she said, "for I am her mother,and if I do not look after these things no one will," and Marjorie knewthis was her mother. She waited patiently for the preliminaries to becompleted so that the real mother business could begin, but her mothermust have been very busy that day, for she went away without beingreally introduced to Marjorie.

  Marjorie was disappointed. She had become used to being regarded asan entertainment for the faces that passed by, and she had becomeaccustomed to have the incubator people regard her as a Case--a mostinteresting Case, to be sure, but still a Case--but she did not like tohave her mother look upon her merely as a Statistic.

  Her mother came after that, almost daily for a week, and then notso frequently. It was not necessary, for the statistics showed thatMarjorie was making progress favorably, and Mrs. Fielding was a verybusy woman. She believed in the broad life for women, and a womanbroadens her life by stepping out of the home occasionally. The homeis better for it. When the woman is not a slave to the home, the homebecomes an ennobled place, and the woman who can step out and bring
backculture and knowledge, and broader views of life and things, is the onlywoman who can raise the home to the level of the man's life. Scienceand system work wonders in the home, as well as in the office of thebusiness man.

  Mrs. Fielding was not a slave to the home. I would sign her certificateof freedom myself. Neither did she look upon Marjorie as a necessaryevil. She was glad and proud to be a mother, and she loved Marjorie, andwished to do all that is in a mother's power for her, but she knew thatmany of the old notions about babies were mistaken ideas. The incubatoritself proved that. Science and system are far more efficacious thanmuch of the old-fashioned granny's twaddle. With the help of educatedminds Mrs. Fielding meant to give Marjorie an ideal mother's care.

  Marjorie didn't care much for the broader life herself. She wasincorrigibly like other babies. She wanted to be fed when she washungry, to sleep when she was sleepy, and to be loved and motheredand petted