By by, baby bunting,
Daddy's gone a-hunting,
To get a little rabbit skin
To wrap the baby bunting in.
At last there came a day when the husband was of no consequence in his
own house. When numerous female visitors frowned upon and snubbed him.
When his mother-in-law glared at him and entreated him despitefully if
he ventured into her august and fearful presence; and even that
wonderful and mysterious person, the hired nurse, unfeelingly ordered
him out of the house, and bade him "begone about his business." The
miserable and conscience-stricken wretch wandered disconsolately from
room to room, only to meet with fresh humiliation and contumely, and at
last, in sheer despair, betook himself off to a lonely and gloomsome
spot in the dark wood, and there, in penitent humility, bewailed his
misfortune in being that miserably and insignificant nonentity--_a man._
Sorrowfully resting his head upon his hands, his eyes fixed upon the
ground, his whole soul absorbed in self-reproach, he passes the long
hours in gloomy abstraction, wishing, he hardly knew what, only that he
was not, what he unfortunately happened to be at that moment, a man
despised of women and hated by his mother-in-law. His sorrowful musings
were broken in upon by his one faithful friend, the gentle companion of
many a quiet hour, his affectionate and devoted pet, his beloved cat.
Gently rubbing her head against his penitent knee, she awakens the
absorbed poet to a realization of her presence, and to a feeling of
pleasure that he is not deserted by all, but has one heart left that
beats for him alone.
Fondly taking his feline friend in his arms, he softly strokes her back,
and gazes lovingly into the soft green eyes that look responsively into
his, and rebukes her not when, in impulsive love, she rubs her cold nose
against his burning cheek, and wipes her eyes upon his frail moustache.
Night draws on apace. The dew begins to fall; the pangs of hunger to
manifest themselves; and hesitatingly and timidly he and his cat turn
their footsteps homeward. Loiter as he will, each moment brings him
nearer to that abode where once he thought himself master; but to his
astonishment he now finds himself an outcast and a reproach.
Slowly and quietly he creeps around to the back kitchen door, his cat
held tightly in his arms, stealthily enters, and meekly drops into a
chair, the image of a self-convicted burglar.
Presently he hears a sound of smothered laughter, a quick, light step,
and mother-in-law and nurse enter, full of importance, and unnaturally
friendly with each other. The unhappy man silently tries to shrink into
nothingness, and thus escape being again driven out of doors; but the
Argus eyes peer into the dark corner, and his intentions are frustrated.
Tremblingly he steps forth, into the light, prepared to meekly obey the
harsh command, when, to his great surprise, his fearful mother-in-law
smiles benignly upon him, and with a knowing look and gracious beckoning
with the forefinger, bids him follow.
He follows, dizzy with the unlooked-for reception, and, in a bewildered
state, is ushered into that sanctum of privacy from which he has been
ignominiously debarred all day--his wife's room.
The revulsion of feeling was too much for the poor man. His head began
to whirl, and his eyes were blinded. He had a faint perception of his
wife speaking to him, and of his being shown something, he didn't know
what; of being told to do something, he didn't know what; and standing
dazed and helpless until forcibly led from the room, and bidden to "go
get his supper and not act like a fool."
The familiar expression and natural manner completely restored his
wavering consciousness, and he knowingly made his way to the kitchen and
vigorously attacked a largo pork-pie, which he gloriously conquered and
felt all the pride of a hero.
The next day, having regained in a measure his usual self-control, he
was allowed once more, in consideration of the position he held in the
family, to enter that _sanctum sanctorum_, and gaze upon its inmates.
His acute mother-in-law, having extracted a promise of absence for the
day, on condition of being allowed to look at his own child a moment,
carefully deposits in his trembling hands a small woollen bundle with a
tiny speck of a face peering therefrom.
Indescribable emotions rushed through his frame at the first touch of
that soft warm roll of flannel, and a torrent of tumultuous joy bubbled
up in his heart when he had so far mastered his emotions as to be able
to touch with one nervous finger the little soft red cheek, lying so
peacefully in his arms. The tiny hands doubled up, so brave looking yet
so helpless now, giving promise of the future, brought tears of joy and
pride to his eyes, and stooping over the wondrous future man, he pressed
a kiss upon its unconscious face.
That kiss awoke the sleeping muse within him. Blissful visions of the
future, and ambitious feelings for the present, started into being. His
first thought was to do something to please the potent little fellow;
but happening to glance at his "everlasting terror," he remembered his
promise. A brilliant idea striking him at that moment, he apostrophized
the infant in the touching words:--
By by, baby bunting,
Daddy's gone a-hunting,
To get a little rabbit skin
To wrap the baby bunting in.
One more kiss, and with a little sigh he lays the precious burden down,
and departs to spend the day in the woods, according to promise, so as
not to be bothering around under foot, and getting in everybody's way
when he ain't wanted.
As he cannot entirely control circumstances, he is determined to make
the best of them, and he mentally blesses the happy thought, or rather
inspiration, that suggested the soft rabbit skin as a bed for the baby,
and resolves that it alone shall be the object of his day's search.
* * * * *