I
Through the front basement window Mrs. Kennedy saw Angelica returning, a
shockingly disheveled figure in the sweltering midday heat. She hurried
to the door, with the baby in her arms.
"Oh, Angie!" she cried. "You cruel, cruel, bad girl! Where have you
been? I’ve been near crazy, left alone here all night and morning with
the baby, and not a penny in the house. Of course I couldn’t do my
work----”
"Hush!" said Angelica, sternly. "Don’t bother me. I’m too tired. I had
to walk all the way back. Make me some tea!"
She took the child in her arms and sat down in the rocking-chair,
holding it pressed against her breast and staring over its head,
indifferent to its crying, and the feeble beating of its little hands.
She had her tea and bread with it; then she lay down on her cot, always
with the child in her arms, and fell asleep. Mrs. Kennedy looked in upon
them, saw them both quiet, the little, downy head resting against
Angelica’s shoulder, and she devoutly hoped that this period of rest
might solace her daughter after whatever demoniacal adventure she had
undergone that night. She picked up her pail and went out to work.
When she came in again at five o’clock, they were both gone.