Finally the last wrapper, which was of mosquito netting, came off, and there lay a chubby little fellow of about fifteen months. He had a fist in his mouth, and with the other dimpled hand he clutched at Polly's hair as she leaned over him.
"Oh! Isn't he a darling! He must belong to a neighbor!" exclaimed Mrs. Stewart.
"He certainly is not starved or poorly cared for," added Mrs. Evans, with experienced voice.
"But he only has on his nightie! Not another stitch to be found," said Anne, carefully rolling the baby over to see if he had any clothes under him.
"There's a note--pinned on the blanket!" cried Polly, anxiously removing the pin and taking the paper over to the light.
"It says--just one word--'Billy.' Did you ever!" exclaimed Polly, glancing from one to the other of the friends who were waiting expectantly to hear about the boy.
"Let's see!" demanded Eleanor, frowning at such a short explanation.
Polly handed the slip of paper to her friend and joined Anne at the divan where she was divesting the boy of his nightie to see if further clues might be found. About his fat neck was a very fine gold chain, and suspended from that was a tiny flat heart-shaped locket. It did not open, but on the plain gold face was a monogram of three letters: B-- D-- W--.
"Now we've got something to work on! 'B' stands for Billy, of course, but what can 'D' and 'W' mean?" Eleanor said excitedly.
"No child is christened 'Billy,'" Anne contradicted. "He would be 'William'--and that is what the 'W' is for. Children are nicknamed 'Billy' or 'Willy' later. Now his middle and last name must begin with the 'B' and 'D'--or vice versa."
"Shake out the blankets carefully--perhaps another paper is pinned to one of them," said Polly, eagerly.
But there was no other message in the blankets.
"Let's take off his flannel shirt! There may be something there," ventured Mrs. Stewart.
In less than a minute, the pins were out and the woven shirt of Merino was removed, but no further information rewarded the anxious seekers. So the shirt was carefully replaced and the boy's nightie slipped over his head again.
"It's all hand-made of fine linen," remarked Mrs. Latimer, as she felt of the hem at the bottom.
"And one can see that he is no slum child," added Mrs. Evans.