Kitabı oku: «A Modern Cinderella», sayfa 3
CHAPTER IV
POOR CINDERELLA
Oh, how busy they were and the babies took this opportunity to begin the cutting of teeth. The auto came for Aunt Hetty. Some of the parlor furnishings were packed away, everything swathed in linen. The closing exercises of the kindergarten took place and Jack distinguished himself by repeating a pretty little poem. In September he would be six.
Then came the last week. They would go on Saturday. Sunday was Fourth of July but it would be held on Monday. Trunks were packed, the last bit of shopping done. The babies fretted and Marilla took them out morning and afternoon with strict injunctions to keep on the shady side of the street. It seemed to grow hotter and hotter. The child lost her appetite and could not eat Bridget’s choice tid-bits. Oh, how her little legs ached, and her back felt sometimes as if it would fall apart.
“It’s good you are going,” declared Bridget.
“You’re almost a skeleton. Goodness knows I shall miss you enough, and just be thinking of your coming back.”
Jack had gone down town with his mother to get some sandals and slippers. She was very glad, for sometimes his talking almost set her crazy, and she really was afraid to be impatient with him.
She had found a beautiful quiet street with great trees that fairly met in the middle of it. Many of the families were away. She sat on one special stoop where the house was all shut up tight. There were no children in the street.
It seemed this day, Thursday, as if she would never get there. The babies were so heavy. She sat down on the second step, leaning against the stone column and pushed the carriage to and fro. Curious shadows went dancing before her eyes, sometimes she could not see at all. And she was so sleepy!
Pansy threw her rattle out and cried for it. Marilla stepped down to pick it up and fell on the sidewalk. What was the matter with her legs? they seemed to have lost their strength. She crawled up again. All the world, the trees and houses went flying round and all was dark. She was falling down – down – Poor little Cinderella!
The babies missed the soft soothing voice. They cried louder and louder, then howled. Some children came to see what was the matter two quite big boys among them. The policeman looked down from the corner and paced with his slow tread.
“What’s the row here?” he asked.
A lady came down one of the stoops on the opposite side of the street; a rather tall, slim woman in a soft gray dress and hat with violets around the crown. She crossed over. The policeman had taken the girl by the shoulder and given her a rough shake.
“Those children howl enough to wake the dead, and she’s asleep here.”
But as he partly raised her Miss Armitage saw that her face was deadly white.
“Oh, poor child!” she cried. “What can be the matter? And whose babies are these?”
“They’re Jack Borden’s little sisters – twins. And thats the nuss gal,” said one of the big boys.
“Do you know where they live?”
“Round in Arch street.”
“Could you take them there?”
“Well – yes’m.”
“Then take them,” rejoined the lady.
The carriage being moved she sat down on the step and took the girl in her arms.
“She isn’t dead – I see the flutter in the temple.”
“Better go to the hospital,” proposed the policeman.
Marilla opened her eyes and glanced up but did not seem to notice anything; then the lids fell and the beautiful long lashes shadowed her cheeks.
“Carry her to my house across the street,” and she led the way.
He picked up the light burden as if it had been a feather. She opened the door and asked him to take the child upstairs and lay her on the couch.
“I am obliged to you,” she said. “In a way I am in Settlement work. We’ll have a doctor and see what is the matter. Then I’ll decide about the hospital. And I will find out about those people.”
“You’re a good sort, ma’am,” and he touched his hat brim to her.
“Jane,” she called. “This poor child isn’t exactly in a faint, but something is the matter. Get a warm bath ready and we’ll put her in. I’ll telephone to Dr. Richards.”
“Yes – he was just going out. Would be up for a first call.”
Miss Armitage undressed her. She was clean and neat, but the poor little body was painfully thin. Then they carried her to the bath. Jane rubbed her softly and she gave some responsive sighs.
“What a pretty lot of little curls and fine as silk. I do wonder who she can be?”
“She’s the little nurse girl who brings those babies, twins I suppose they are, and sits on the stoop over opposite.”
“What happened?”
“Well it’s some sort of a collapse. Now I’ll find a nice nightgown, and we’ll see what the doctor says.”
Marilla opened her eyes. They were a sort of blueish gray, but now very heavy and dull. Her lips moved, but the tone was very low. It sounded as if she said “fairy godmother” and Miss Armitage smiled.
“Oh, poor little thing!”
Dr. Richards flew around in his auto.
“Oh, I thought something had happened to you,” he began.
“It has,” and she detailed the simple story.
He followed her up to the room. It was such a lovely, restful room. A white bed in the alcove, white window drapery, a carpet with considerable light blue in it, a dressing case, a writing desk, some books and pictures, mostly Madonnas.
“Poor child,” he said. “She’s been worked too hard. All her strength seems gone. And a case of heat prostration. It’s been an awful day. Who is she?”
Miss Armitage told over the incident. “I have seen her sitting there several times. It is shady in the afternoon.”
“Two fat babies,” and he laughed. “I should think one would be enough for such a child to manage. Overwork and underfeeding I think, and the heat. I’ll see if I can rouse her.”
Marilla opened her eyes and the lids seemed to fall from absolute weariness. The lips moved but made no sound.
“It is a kind of comatose state. Not knowing all that is back of it I can’t quite make up my mind. If this awful heat would let up! I’ll leave some drops to be given to her and will come in one my first round in the morning. I haven’t been to the Settlement House yet.”
“Oh, you must go. That little Mary Burns died at noon, and her mother is half crazy over it. Poor little thing, deformed and all that. This child has a nice straight body and a fine smooth skin. I’ll go round in Arch street and see what I can learn about her.”
“She looks worth saving if life really holds anything for her. Poor things! Why are so many sent into the world ‘just to toil.’”
“I was going over–”
“Never mind now. I’ll attend to it all, and see the Burns’ priest. Don’t be worried. These drops will keep up her strength,” nodding to Marilla. “And I will report in the morning.”
Dr. Richards went his way. Miss Armitage sat and considered. Perhaps it would be as well to go to Mrs. Borden’s. They would be feeling much alarmed, no doubt. She explained to Jane and put on her hat again and picked up her sun umbrella, for some streets were still in a glow. This was the best part of the city however, and there were some fine trees.
She stopped and looked in a directory. There was only one Borden living on Arch street, a Mr. John Borden, lawyer. She made a note of the number. Arch street was some distance farther west, and then only a block or so. A very nice looking three-story brick with a stone stoop. She mounted and rang the bell. There certainly was a child or children crying.
A young woman much distraught answered the door. And now positive howls greeted her ears.
“We are in such trouble,” apologized the woman.
“I am Miss Armitage and live in Loraine place, nearly opposite where the little girl fainted. Did the babies get home safely?”
“Oh, we are so glad! Won’t you please come upstairs for my sister can’t leave the children. We have been almost crazy! One boy said she fell off the steps. Is she much hurt?”
“She had a bad fainting spell. The doctor came and he hardly knows what to think until tomorrow. The policeman proposed sending her to the Hospital, but I am one of the managers of the Settlement House in Beacon street, so I had her brought over to my house. A fall, you said?”
“That was what a boy said – that she tumbled off the step. Oh, Pansy dear, do hush! You miss Marilla, don’t you? The best little nurse in all the world. Oh, what can we do without her!”
Mrs. Borden was pacing the floor with the baby’s head against her shoulder and gently patting her. She did not scream now, but sobbed in a very sleepy fashion.
“You see, we are to start on Saturday noon, and we shall not come back until the middle of September. We thought it would be so nice for Marilla, too, she’d kind of run down though she wasn’t at all ill. Bridget worried that she ate so little and she was growing thin.”
“How long has she been with you?”
“I took her from an institution – the Bethany Home – about the middle of October. She was just twelve, the Matron said. I think she was very glad to come. She’s had a good home and plenty to eat. And one funny thing is that Bridget took such a fancy to her, and though Bridget’s good as gold, she has some queer streaks.”
Mrs. Borden sat down and drew a long breath. Pansy had fallen asleep at last.
“And we never let her lift the children or carry them up and down. I think babies are sometimes injured for life that way in falling. They used to sit on the rug and she’d tell them stories. I think she must have made them out of her head – funny things and she’d act them off and the babies would laugh and laugh – it was as good as a play. They seemed to understand every word. Marilla was a born nurse girl. But what can we do? We must have someone, and there’s only such a little time.”
Miss Armitage was thinking.
“Perhaps I might help you out,” she said kindly. “There is a young girl with us who worked in a factory until she gave out. We sent her to the Rest House in the country and she did improve, but they wouldn’t take her back in the factory. She’s a nice pleasant girl about seventeen.”
“Oh, how good of you to think of it! But I can’t pay high wages, for there’ll be her board and it won’t be hard. When the babies are well they are as good as kittens though they can’t scamper around so much. And they’re so fat they won’t walk very soon. It’ll just be sitting round and amusing them and looking after their food. I couldn’t give more than three dollars a week – we are not at all rich,” with a short laugh of apology.
“I think Ellen would come for awhile.”
“And I should want Marilla as soon as she was well enough. You see she’s bound-out to me, and we all like her so much. I don’t see what could have happened to her. She has been out in the fresh air most of the time and we always tell her to go slow with the babies, not rush along in the heat. What did she say?”
“Oh, she hasn’t spoken at all. She lies just unconscious.”
“Good gracious! Oh, you don’t think she will die?” and Mrs. Borden really turned pale with fright.
“A person sometimes lies that way for days when overcome with the heat. The doctor can tell better tomorrow.”
“Oh, poor little Marilla! She is so sweet-tempered. And you were so good not to send her off to a hospital. How ever should we have found her! There is so little time. When shall we hear about this other girl?”
“I will telephone as soon as I go home and tell them to send her in the morning,” and Miss Armitage rose.
“We are so much obliged.” She followed her visitor out in the hall.
“Do not come down,” said Miss Armitage. “And I hope the babies will improve.”
“Thank you – for everything.”
The sun was going down and some stray wafts of wind wandered along, which made the heat rather more endurable.
“Jane,” she said as she walked into the room, “did you notice any bruise on the child’s head while you were bathing her. She fell off of the steps it seemed.”
“There was none on her forehead. Her hair is very thick and I really did not look only to see that it was in a nice, clean condition. She hasn’t suffered for want of cleanliness.”
Then she told Jane all she had learned, adding:
“They seem very nice kind of people. But oh! those babies!”
Miss Armitage telephoned to the settlement House, stating the case.
“Yes, Ellen Day was still there and would be very glad of the position. She would go the first thing in the morning.”
Jane insisted on bringing in a cot and sleeping beside the little girl who lay quite as still as if she were dead. Now and then she gave her the drops and fanned the air about her. The morning came and the city was astir again. But it was quiet in Loraine place. So many had gone away and there were no trolleys nearby.
They looked over Marilla’s head and found one spot above the ear that had a small bit of discoloration, but it was not in a dangerous place. The doctor came in.
“I did not think there would be much change,” he said. Then he tried to rouse her. Jane held her up while they gave her a little milk which she swallowed without difficulty. She opened her eyes and closed them again, then lay quiet.
He listened to Miss Armitage’s interview and nodded as she went along.
“The child is terribly run down. I think she has worked harder than any one imagined. But they seem to have appreciated her.”
No one could guess the strain of talking so incessantly to amuse the babies, of reading to Jack, of having eyes all over to see that he did not torment the little ones, push their playthings out of the way, give them sly pinches or tweak their hair. She did hate to tell tales on him. And when he coaxed to go out with her he was a constant care. School had been closed for a fortnight. Oh, how tired she was every night!
“You don’t eat more than a bird,” Bridget would complain.
“But I’m never hungry now, I shall be so glad when we get to the real country, and grass, and everything. I’m so tired of the rows and rows of red brick houses, and they all seem so hot.”
And now Bridget was almost heart broken.
Ellen Day came in to tell Miss Armitage how glad she was that a good word had been spoken for her. “And she was sure she should like the ladies and the pretty little boy. But how fat the babies were and not a bit pretty. They were to start at twelve tomorrow.”
It was still hot, but in the afternoon it clouded up and the evening brought a most refreshing shower. The hot wave was broken.
Sunday afternoon they had rolled the couch over by the window. Miss Armitage sat reading. Jane had gone out for a walk. The child seemed to have grown thinner in these few days.
She opened her eyes slowly and looked intently at the woman sitting there in her soft, white attire. She was so sweet and pretty.
“Are you a fairy godmother?” Marilla asked in a weak, wandering tone.
“A – what?” smiling in surprise.
“A fairy godmother. You don’t look like the other one, but then it was night and we went to the King’s ball. Oh, it was so splendid!”
“When was that?” in a soft, persuasive tone.
“Oh, a long time ago. I was Cinderella, and every new Cinderella dances with the Prince, you know. Only they can’t dance but once with him.”
It was something the child had read, doubtless.
“Do you feel better?” she asked tenderly.
Marilla glanced around and sighed. Then she said in a frightened tone —
“Oh, where am I? And where are the babies? I heard them cry.”
“You are all safe and right. And the babies and all the family went down on Long Island.”
“It’s so queer.”
The eyelids drooped again and she fell asleep.
An hour later she woke, and seemed to study the room and the lady.
“I never was at fairyland but that once,” she said slowly. “Then there was such lovely music and dancing and everybody was so gay. It’s beautiful here and you are very sweet. I don’t know how I came here. Must I go back?”
“Not until you are well. You have been ill. And you were brought here–”
“I can’t think. There were the babies. I went to get something and stumbled and everything looked so queer, blue and red and full of stars, and then I went down and down and all was dark and I kept going down–”
“You fainted and were brought over here. The babies were taken home. And you have been ill, but now you are going to get well.”
“I’ve never been real ill. There were the measles once in the home and we had to stay in bed. I was so hungry. Oh, do you know where Bridget is? She was so good to me.”
“She is at Mr. Borden’s.”
“Could I please to have a drink?”
Miss Armitage brought a glass of milk.
“Would you like something to eat – a bit of custard?”
“I’m not hungry. But the milk was good. Thank you. Who brought me back from that great dark pit?”
“The doctor, I guess,” with a smile.
“Could I be turned over?”
Miss Armitage turned her so her face was toward the sky. She drew a long breath.
“Do you mind if I should go to sleep?”
“Oh, no, and I’ll read to you.”
The sweet voice soon lulled her to sleep. And she did not speak again all through the evening, but was rather restless all night. No one had to watch with her now, but Miss Armitage was troubled at the soft, long sighs.
CHAPTER V
THE FAIRY GODMOTHER
Marilla wondered what the bells were ringing for. And then pistols were firing. Oh, yes, it was Fourth of July. She would get up – but her thin legs gave way and her head spun round. All the room was strange, and everybody seemed mixed up. Then a soft voice said —
“I hope you are better this morning.”
“I feel – queer – ”
The face was flushed, the little hands were hot.
“The doctor was afraid of fever,” Miss Armitage said to Jane, “and it has come.”
But the doctor was in early. There would be so many calls on him, by and by.
“Yes, it is fever. She seemed better yesterday. And she can’t spare any strength to be burned up, so we must do our best. I don’t dare treat her as you would a robust child, but I’ll give her something every hour, and get in again before night. Oh, no, I think it is hardly critical,” in answer to the lady’s anxious look.
Marilla did not seem to know any one. She muttered little catches of talk about the babies and Jack, always pleading with him not to do this or that. Once she laughed and waved her hand to and fro as if in response to music and said – “All the Cinderellas! How beautiful!”
A tall, plain-looking Irish woman came in at midafternoon.
“Tell her it’s Bridget,” she said. “Can’t I see her?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Miss Armitage, “But I am afraid she will not recognize you.”
So she led the way upstairs. Marilla lay on the cot now and was moving her hands as if acting something.
“Ah, the dear!” Bridget knelt down by the side of the bed. “Don’t you remember Bridget whose come to care for you so much? Ah dear! It’s meself that sorry enough to see ye lyin’ this way, thin as a ghost.”
She opened her eyes, “Bridget! Oh, you know the night I went to the ball and fairy godmother turned my old frock into the beautifullest frock, all lace and ribbons. And I danced with the Prince and had such a lovely time!”
Then the eyelids fell and she lapsed into unconsciousness.
Miss Armitage glanced inquiringly.
“It was along of a dream that she had once; it was a dream for such things don’t happen now-a-days, more’s the pity. But she always believes it real and true, the dear, that she was Cinderella, and had been there. She’s the best little thing I ever saw, and she never told you a lie or took a bit of cake without asking. In the beginning she must have belonged to some nice folks; and just look at her pretty hands and feet, light and small enough to dance at any king’s ball. But it’s hard on the nice ones that have to go to Homes and be put out for little drudges. Though they’re nice people, the Bordens, as you may guess by my stayin’ with ’em goin’ on five year.”
“And she wasn’t over-worked,” ventured Miss Armitage. “She is so thin.”
“She’s been falling away dreadful the last month. Well, she wasn’t and she was. There was an old lady living up on the third floor, an aunt or something and she was afraid of bad spells, she did have some, and she’d ring her bell for Marilla an’ it would be upstairs an’ down, sometimes way down to my kitchen, and lugging those two fat babies up and down the street–”
“Did she have to carry them any?”
“Oh, no. The mistress didn’t want her to lift them. She was afraid of a fall and their backs would get broken. So when they were big enough they sat on the floor and she talked to them and told them funny things and acted ’em off and laughed, and they’d laugh too. It was like a play to see ’em. And they’d jabber back and she’d make b’lieve she understood it all. She was a wonderful child’s nurse an’ there’ll be trouble enough without her. But the babies went to bed early an’ then she’d come down an’ wipe the dishes for me an’ they made no call on her. But Jack was a holy terror, he was that bad, but he went to school in the spring. If he was mine I’d skin him alive. But it was hard dragging them fat, heavy things around. Will you tell me just how you come to find her? They’ve missed her so. They screech enough to raise the dead, an’ I know it’s for her.”
Miss Armitage told the incident over.
“The saints bless and protect you ma’am for not lettin’ her be sent to a hospital! But do you think she can get well? And if that other maid suits, couldn’t you keep her here all summer and let her get good and strong? I’m going out to my cousin at Fairfield to stay until next Monday. The boss will be down with his folks until then, and all the vallerbles have been sent out of the house so we can leave it alone. And when I come back we may have a plan for the poor dear that isn’t baby tendin’. O the little darlin’! Don’t let her die, ma’am, she’s so nice and sweet!”
She caught the little hand and kissed it, and winked away the tears that glistened in her eyes.
“I’ll do my best, you may be sure. And when you come back, I shall be glad to have a call from you. And by that time she may know us all. Thank you for your sympathy.”
Bridget nodded and turned away. Miss Armitage studied the little girl with a new interest. She had seen beautiful children among the very poor, in the slums, with no ancestry back of them. There was something about this child – not beauty either, that set one to thinking. She must learn something about her.
And then she smiled over the fancy of being Cinderella and dancing with the Prince at the ball. What a happy dream it must have been for the child! She was glad to hear that she had not been badly treated or ill fed. She could trust the kindly Bridget for that.
When the doctor came in Sunday morning a smile lighted up his face.
“A real improvement,” he exclaimed. “No fever and a normal temperature. Pulse stronger. Now, with nourishing diet and some salt in the baths we shall have her about again, though I’ve had several patients lie weeks in this state in the hot weather.”
Marilla glanced up and smiled back.
“Why, I feel all well,” she began. “Couldn’t I get up.”
“Yes,” said Miss Armitage. “Jane will you bring that small pink kimona and put it on.”
She took the doctor over in the bay window.
“The Borden’s cook came in to see the child. She seemed very fond of her and said she was the sweetest little thing. And that she was wonderful with the babies. I was glad she had not been ‘put upon’ as they say over to the house. And that she always had enough to eat. And she wasn’t allowed to lift the babies–”
“But dragged them about in the carriage. Such children are not strong enough for nursemaids. She was pretty well used up, and she’ll be sometime getting over it.”
“I’ve taken a curious fancy to the child. Jane thinks she must have belonged to what we call ‘nice people.’ She flattered me by asking, the first coherent words she uttered if I was not ‘a fairy godmother?’ Think of that!” smiling.
“Well, I think you have been that many a time. I wonder you haven’t filled the house with children.”
“I’m always full of pity for them. But when they are cured and put in some place where they can do their best, and have a little love and care, I go on to the next. I do not believe I am a real missionary, and I have a theory – it may not be a very noble one,” and a soft color suffused her fine face, “that people who bring children into the world ought to be made to feel the responsibility of them and not shift them on society at large, trusting Providence to take care of them.”
“That is what ought to be taught – the responsibility of children. Women as well as men sin in this respect. The woman who forgives the drunken husband and takes him back until tired of working he goes off again leaving another child to add to the poorly-fed throng she can hardly take care of. I think the man who goes off the second time, or who does not take care of the children he has, should be put in some institution and made to earn their support. And the girls ought to be educated up to better ideas of marriage. It doesn’t near always conduce to morality. I preach sermons to you – don’t I?” and he gave a short laugh. “And we can never set the world straight. But these Homes and Republics are doing a good work in training children to self reliance.”
Jane wrapped the little girl in the kimona and lifted her up in the reclining chair.
“Oh, that’s so nice. How good you are! And everything is so lovely. Oh, I’ll soon be well.”
Then the little face clouded over. Oh, she truly would not mind being ill if she could stay in this beautiful house where everything was so quiet. Jane went in and out, and presently she brought a cup of broth. How good it tasted!
“Would you mind if I went back to bed? I’m so sleepy.”
“Oh, no,” returned Jane, and she put her gently back on the cot where she soon fell asleep.
There was slight rise of fever and restlessness about noon. She talked in broken snatches imploring Jack not to do this or that and not to pinch the babies. Then she was so tired, so tired! But about midafternoon, she seemed to rouse and come to herself and said she was hungry. There was broth and hot milk and some stewed fruit, and Jane brushed her hair that fell in a bed of rings and asked if she didn’t want to sit up. She brought her over by the window so she could look out, but the back yard was very pretty for it was gay with blooming flowers.
Miss Armitage had been to church, and at two she had a class of young girls who were clerks in stores. Half of them were going away on Monday to the Rest House for a week, and they were full of that. Two of them had never been before. Was it like Coney Island?
“It is not far from the shore, the broad Sound that leads out to the ocean. But there are not side shows. Just rowing and bathing, and a ride every day in a big omnibus. And plenty of girls. Oh, you won’t be lonesome;” and Miss Armitage smiled.
“Another girl and I went away last summer to a house that wasn’t country but a beautiful street with lawns in front. There were three ladies, and oh, they were so particular. They did not have any story papers and the books were all dull and religious and if you took up one you must put it back in the same place. They didn’t like us to talk ‘store’ nor sing any street songs and one lady only played hymns on the piano. Oh, we were so homesick.”
“The Rest House has a big farm and chickens and two cows, and a tennis court and croquet. And there are lovely walks. And hammocks and swings.”
“That’s the ticket!” said one of the girls. “You want some fun.”
Miss Armitage did not check her. She thought of the amusements and pleasures of her youth. Then she came home to her little girl whose face lighted up with gladness, and who put out her thin hand.
“You look lovely,” Marilla said. “And I’m getting almost well.”
“That is good news,” and the lady smiled.
“Only it seems so queer when I try to think. It is such a long while. I seem to have been lost and couldn’t find my way out. Do you know where the babies are?”
“They all went down to Long Island. I sent them a new girl. And Bridget was here to inquire about you.”
“Oh, she was so good to me. I was a little afraid of her at first, especially when she said she’d ‘skin me alive.’ Don’t you think it would hurt dreadfully? She used to threaten Jack, but she never did it. And she said that about the fairy godmother and the King’s ball was a dream. What is it that goes to strange places when you are asleep? And how can you enjoy and remember all, and hear the music for days afterward? If there are two lives, one for day and one for night, why doesn’t the night one go straight on?”
“You’ll have to ask the doctor these curious puzzles. They are beyond me.”
“Is Bridget at the house?” she inquired after a moment’s thought.
“She was going away to some cousin to stay a week as Mr. Borden will be down to – Bayside, I think it is, all the week.”
“When I get well I suppose I shall have to go back to the babies. You know I am a bound out girl – until I am eighteen. But they’ll be growing bigger all the time. I wish they were as pretty as Jack. Don’t you think all babies ought to be pretty? And have curly hair?”
“I think the curly hair quite an addition.”
“There’s another puzzle. Why should some hair curl and some hair keep straight?”
“I don’t know. But your’s is curly,” smiling.
“Yes, I like it. At the Home there were two other girls with curly hair. And the nurse said it made us vain, so she cut it close to the skin and she said it wouldn’t curl any more. That was last summer. But it did when it grew out, and I was glad. I tried to make the babies curl, and Mrs. Borden said she’d give me a silver dollar if I could. But it was so straight and there wasn’t much of it. Do you remember the fat little girl of the Campbell’s Soups? The babies look a good deal like her. They have high foreheads and round eyes full of wonder, and such chubby cheeks. But Aunt Florence said Mr. Borden was just such a baby and he isn’t at all chubby now and has dark eyes. Jack’s are dark. Maybe they’ll grow prettier. But they’re good and – funny. They laugh over everything, and they seem to understand everything I say or read to them. I wonder if they will like the new girl.”
“She is very pleased and, I think, patient – four years older than you.”
“Oh, suppose they didn’t want me back?” and the child drew a long breath of half fear.
