It had big dark eyes in its ugly little face . `` Better not let the wind blow on it , '' admonished Mrs. Conover . `` Take its breath if it do . '' Rilla wrapped the tattered little quilt around the soup tureen . `` Will you hand this to me after I get into the buggy , please ? '' `` Sure I will , '' said Mrs. Conover , getting up with a grunt . And so it was that Rilla Blythe , who had driven to the Anderson house a self-confessed hater of babies , drove away from it carrying one in a soup tureen on her lap ! Rilla thought she would never get to Ingleside . In the soup tureen there was an uncanny silence . In one way she was thankful the baby did not cry but she wished it would give an occasional squeak to prove that it was alive . Suppose it were smothered ! Rilla dared not unwrap it to see , lest the wind , which was now blowing a hurricane , should `` take its breath , '' whatever dreadful thing that might be . She was a thankful girl when at last she reached harbour at Ingleside . Rilla carried the soup tureen to the kitchen , and set it on the table under Susan 's eyes . Susan looked into the tureen and for once in her life was so completely floored that she had not a word to say . `` What in the world is this ? '' asked the doctor , coming in . Rilla poured out her story . `` I just had to bring it , father , '' she concluded . `` I could n't leave it there . ''
`` What are you going XXXXX do with it ? ''
around at for if in of so to under with