Pete went up to Sulby like an avalanche, shouting his greetings to
everybody on the way. But when he got near to the "Fairy" he wiped his
steaming forehead and held his panting breath, and pretended not to have
heard the news.
"How's the poor girl now?" he said in a meek voice, trying to look
powerfully miserable, and playing his part splendidly for thirty
seconds.
Then the women made eyes at each other and looked wondrous knowing, and
nodded sideways at Pete, and clucked and chuckled, saying, "Look at
him,--_he_ doesn't know anything, does he?"--"Coorse not, woman--these
men creatures are no use for nothing."
"Out of a man's way," cried Pete with a roar, and he made a rush for the
stairs.
Nancy blocked him at the foot of them with both hands on his shoulders.
"You'll be quiet, then," she whispered. "You were always a rasonable
man, Pete, and she's wonderful wake--promise you'll be quiet."
"I'll be like a mouse," said Pete, and he wiped off his long sea-boots
and crept on tiptoe into the room. There she lay with the morning light
on her, and a face as white as the quilt that she was plucking with her
long fingers.
"Thank God for a living mother and a living child," said Pete in a
broken gurgle, and then he drew down the bedclothes a very little, and
there too was the child on the pillow of her other arm.
Then, do what he would to be quiet, he could not help but make a shout.
"He's there! Yes, he is! He is, though! Joy! Joy!"
The women were down on him like a flock of geese. "Out of this, sir, if
you can't behave better."
"Excuse me, ladies," said Pete humbly, "I'm not in the habit of babies.
A bit excited, you see, Mistress Nancy, ma'am. Couldn't help putting a
bull of a roar out, not being used of the like." Then, turning back to
the bed, "Aw, Kitty, the beauty it is, though! And the big! As big as my
fist already. And the fat! It's as fat as a bluebottle. And the
straight! Well, not so _very_ straight neither, but the complexion at
him now! Give him to me, Kitty! give him to me, the young rascal. Let me
have a hould of him anyway."
"_Him_, indeed! Listen to the man," said Nancy.
"It's a girl, Pete," said Grannie, lifting the child out of the bed.
"A girl, is it?" said Pete doubtfully. "Well," he said, with a wag of
the head, "thank God for a girl." Then, with another and more resolute
wag, "Yes, thank God for a living mother and a living child, if it _is_
a girl," and he stretched out his arms to take the baby.
"Aisy, now, Pete--aisy," said Grannie, holding it out to him.
"Is it aisy broke they are, Grannie?" said Pete. A good spirit looked
out of his great boyish face. "Come to your ould daddie, you lil
sandpiper. Gough bless me, Kitty, the weight of him, though! This
child's a quarter of a hundred, if he's an ounce. He is, I'll go bail he
is. Look at him! Guy heng, Grannie, did ye ever see the like, now! It's
abs'lute perfection. Kitty, I couldn't have had a better one if I'd
chiced it. Where's that Tom Hommy now? The bleating little billygoat, he
was bragging outrageous about his new baby--saying he wouldn't part with
it for two of the best cows in his cow-house. This'll floor him, I'm
thinking. What's that you're saying, Mistress Nancy, ma'am? No good for
nothing, am I? You were right, Grannie. 'It'll be all joy soon,' you
were saying, and haven't we the child to show for it? I put on my
stocking inside out on Monday, ma'am. 'I'm in luck,' says I, and so I
was. Look at that, now! He's shaking his lil fist at his father. He is,
though. This child knows me. Aw, you're clever, Nancy, but--no nonsense
at all, Mistress Nancy, ma'am. Nothing will persuade me but this child
knows me."
"Do you hear the man?" said Nancy. "_He_ and _he_, and _he_ and _he_!
It's a girl, I'm telling you; a girl--a girl--a girl."
"Well, well, a girl, then--a girl we'll make it," said Pete, with
determined resignation.
"He's deceaved," said Grannie. "It was a boy he was wanting, poor
fellow!"
But Pete scoffed at the idea. "A boy? Never! No, no--a girl for your
life. I'm all for girls myself, eh, Kitty? Always was, and now I've got
two of them."
The child began to cry, and Grannie took it back and rocked it, face
downwards, across her knees.
"Goodness me, the voice at him!" said Pete. "It's a skipper he's born
for--a harbor-master, anyway."
The child slept, and Grannie put it on the pillow turned lengthwise at
Kate's side.
"Quiet as a Jenny Wren, now," said Pete. "Look at the bogh smiling
in his sleep. Just like a baby mermaid on the egg of a dogfish. But
where's the ould man at all? Has he seen it? We must have it in the
papers. The Times? Yes, and the 'Tiser too. 'The beloved wife of Mr.
Capt'n Peter Quilliam, of a boy--a girl,' I mane. Aw, the wonder
there'll be all the island over--everybody getting to know. Newspapers
are like women--ter'ble bad for keeping sacrets. What'll Philip say?"...
There was a low moaning from the bed.
"Air! Give me air! open the door!" Kate gasped.
"The room is getting too hot for her," said Grannie.
"Come, there's one too many of us here," said Nancy. "Out of it," and
she swept Pete from the bedroom with her apron as if he had been a drove
of ducks.
Pete glanced backward from the door, and a cloak that was hanging on the
inside of it brushed his face.
"God bless her!" he said in a low tone. "God bless and reward her for
going through this for me!"
Then he touched the cloak with his lips and disappeared. A moment later
his curly black poll came stealing round the door-jamb, half-way down,
like the head of a big boy.
"Nancy," in a whisper, "put the tongs over the cradle; it's a pity to
tempt the fairies. And, Grannie, I wouldn't lave it alone to go out to
the cow-house--the lil people are shocking bad for changing."