"Why did you never come? I sent for you."
"I was afraid, Vesty, that new burden of motherhood, which you carried,
might take some physical mark or blight from a presence like mine. But
he is beautiful!"
He lay upon her arm, and he was beautiful, full fed from her breasts,
formed large and fair, his hair already waved as by a court barber!
Her eyes rested on him. Would all the weak and miserable of the world
be well-nigh forgotten now? She raised them to me again--Basin
eyes--all the weak and miserable of the world were dearer.
"He looks that proud way," she laughed, "when the boys play him to
sleep; they played him to sleep again before they went to their traps
this morning. They used to play me to sleep, before baby came. I used
to think of so many things. I wanted to see you."
"Things cannot ever be thought out, after all, Vesty; but if the boys
can play one to sleep--well, that is best."
She took my hand; the tenderness in her eyes covered their pity. I
felt no sting. "I feel safe when you will come sometimes," she said;
"you are so strong--so strong!" She touched my hand admonishingly; it
was as though she lifted me.
"I misjudged your husband, Vesty; rather, I did not know him. He is a
good lad, this Gurdon."
"Oh, he is!" A dream swept over her face, as dreams will; the mad
birds whistling "love" down by the sea-wall, the gay waters
flashing--Notely Garrison.
"And so the father plays him to sleep? Many a duke would give half his
possessions for a boy like that!"
She buried her face rapturously beside him for a moment, then turned to
me calmly:
"What do you know of Notely?" she said.
"Only what rumor knows, what may have been told you. His wife found no
enduring attractions in this locality, you know: they have built a
summer place at Bar Harbor; his wife and his mother and Mrs. Langham,
it is said, are all devoted to his happiness. He has a fine yacht now,
and is sometimes seen skipping by off shore. He is gifted in address
and with the pen. His name is seen often."
Vesty listened hungrily.
"Have you seen him? Is he happy?"
"I saw him only as he was passing me, with some of his companions; they
had come ashore to see the old Garrison place. He looked very happy."
"Then I am glad!" said Vesty of the Basins, clasping her hands. I
looked at her; if he was happy she was utterly glad.
"He will be a great man," she said: "he is already famous, that _is_ to
be great."
"As Christ went down the Lonesome Road,"
sang Uncle Benny, who was voluntary housekeeper at Vesty's during some
hours of the day, while the father and boys were away at the fishing:
"As Christ went down the Lonesome Road--
Sail away to Galilee.
He left the Crown and He took the Cross!
Sail away to Galilee.
Sail away to Galilee--
Oh, He left the Crown and He took the Cross--
Sail away to Galilee!"
He came forward to take the baby, who had awakened before he began to
sing. The Basin matrons ran in very much, but there was no "Vesty" to
enter and take the continued care, in this case, until the young mother
should be strong again.
"You can sweep up, major," said Uncle Benny, cheerfully pointing me to
the broom.
"Sail away to Galilee,
Sail away to Galilee--"
he sang, walking so proudly with the infant that his gait was most
innocently jaunty and affected.
Vesty laughed and shook her head at me, but I had the broom and was
hobbling about at work with it, pleased to find that Uncle Benny had
rather neglected this humble office for the more important one of
minding the baby.
He next set me to washing the dishes and turning the churn; he would
not trust me with the child, and wisely. That he held in his own
strong arms, but he sat down beside me after my work was done and
gently commiserated me.
"Nature has not done so much for you as she has for some, you know," he
said.
"No, indeed," I murmured.
At that he took off his blue necktie and held it toward me, with a tear
of pity in his eye.