Star of Light by Patricia M. St. John Page A

than pets. She had never dreamed of anything so exciting.
    They had reached the narrow backstreet where Rosemary lived, and Mrs. Swift was talking in a rather strained voice and trying not to look too horrified at the babies sitting on the cobbles and the ragged old beggar chanting in one of the doorways. Then she suddenly looked very horrified indeed, for Rosemary had stopped in front of the last house and was taking out her key. On the doorstep sat a very poor woman, holding something to her breast under her rags.
    Rosemary spoke to the woman, who pulled aside her rags and held out a baby, all skin and bones, half-dead with sickness and exhaustion. Mrs. Swift put out her hand to take hold of Jenny, but she was too late. Her child had stepped forward, and both she and Rosemary were stooping over the pathetic little creature, quite absorbed.
    “Jenny!” commanded her mother. “Come here!” But Jenny took not the slightest notice. She turned tragic eyes to her aunt.
    “Is it going to die?” she whispered.
    “I don’t know; I hope not,” replied Rosemary. “Let’s go in.”
    She opened the front door, led the woman into the room where she gave out the medicines, and told her to sit down while she turned back to her guests. Mrs. Swift was standing very still, recovering from her shock at finding such a wretched creature on Rosemary’s doorstep. She noticed that the young mother had a patient face, one used to suffering, with beautiful dark eyes that gleamed with hope as she lifted her baby toward the nurse.
    “Rosemary,” she urged, “don’t worry about us; we can look after ourselves. You go and see to that poor baby.”
    Rosemary hesitated. “Well, come upstairs,” she said, “and I can show you where the sitting room is. Tea is all ready, and the kettle is boiling.”
    It was a surprise to enter a house on that dingy street and find it bright with pictures and flowers, and a delicious meal set out on pretty china. Rosemary sat them down on the low mattress seats and made tea. Then she spoke rather shyly.
    “It seems awfully rude,” she said, “but would you mind if I left you just for ten minutes? You see, I know this woman. She’s lost four babies—this one is all she’s got.”
    Jenny slipped her hand into her aunt’s. “I’m going to help you,” she announced.
    “No, Jenny,” exclaimed her mother firmly. “It’s quite out of the question. Come and sit down and drink your tea.”
    Jenny flew into a passion at once.
    “I want to go!” she stormed. “I want to see that baby get well. I don’t want any tea! Say I can come,Aunt Rosemary—it’s your house. Daddy, say I can go. Mummy, you might let me—”
    Her father most unexpectedly came to Jenny’s rescue. “What is the matter with that baby?” he asked. “Has it got anything infectious?”
    “I shouldn’t think so,” answered Rosemary. “I’ve seen it before. She’s suffering from starvation and improper feeding.”
    “Then, Elizabeth, I would let her go, if Rosemary doesn’t mind,” said Mr. Swift. As Jenny left the room triumphantly with Rosemary, he turned to his wife. “Darling,” he said, “let her help all she can. She needs to help someone. It may make her a little less selfish to see that sort of thing, and I’m sure Rosemary will be sensible about infection.”
    “Perhaps so,” agreed Jenny’s mother, and she gave a little sigh. “If only she could have had younger brothers and sisters,” she added wistfully.
    Meanwhile, Jenny and her aunt were bending over the white-faced baby, and the mother was telling the usual tale of poverty, ignorance, and improper feeding. It seemed almost too late to help, but perhaps there was still a chance. Rosemary, nursing the tiny thing in a blanket, turned to Jenny.
    “Go upstairs, Jenny,” she said, “and bring me a cup and a spoon and some sugar from the shelf above the stove.”
    Jenny obeyed, moving swiftly and lightly.
    “Now go and fetch the kettle,” commanded