"How do you do this morning, Ruth?" said the old lady, lowering herself
gradually into a softly-cushioned arm chair. "How your sickness _has_
altered you! You look like a ghost? I shouldn't wonder if you lost all
your hair; it is no uncommon thing in sickness; or your teeth either.
How's the baby? She don't favor our side of the house at all. She is
quite a plain child, in fact. Has she any symptoms, yet, of a sore
mouth? I hope not, because she will communicate it to your breast, and
then you'll have a time of it. I knew a poor, feeble thing once, who
died of it. Of course, you intend, when Mrs. Jiff leaves, to take care
of the baby yourself; a nursery girl would be very expensive."
"I believe Harry has already engaged one," said Ruth.
"I don't think he has," said the old lady, sitting up very straight,
"because it was only this morning that the doctor and I figured up the
expense it would be to you, and we unanimously came to the conclusion to
tell Harry that you'd better take care of the child yourself. I always
took care of my babies. You oughtn't to have mentioned a nursery girl,
at all, to Harry."
"He proposed it himself," replied Ruth; "he said I was too feeble to
have the care of the child."
"Pooh! pshaw! stuff! no such thing. You are well enough, or will be,
before long. Now, there's a girl's board to begin with. Servant girls
eat like boa-constrictors. Then, there's the soap and oil she'll
waste;--oh, the thing isn't to be thought of; it is perfectly ruinous.
If you hadn't made a fool of Harry, he never could have dreamed of it.
You ought to have sense enough to check him, when he would go into such
extravagances for you, but some people _haven't_ any sense. Where would
all the sugar, and starch, and soap, go to, I'd like to know, if we were
to have a second girl in the house? How long would the wood-pile, or
pitch-kindlings, or our new copper-boiler last? And who is to keep the
back gate bolted, with such a chit flying in and out?"
"Will you please hand me that camphor bottle?" said Ruth, laying her
hand upon her throbbing forehead.
* * * * *
"How's my little snow-drop to-day?" said Harry, entering Ruth's room as
his mother swept out; "what ails your eyes, Ruth?" said her husband,
removing the little hands which hid them.
"A sudden pain," said Ruth, laughing gaily; "it has gone now; the
camphor was too strong."
Good Ruth! brave Ruth! Was Harry deceived? Something ails _his_ eyes,
now; but Ruth has too much tact to notice it.
Oh Love! thou skilful teacher! learned beyond all the wisdom of the
schools.