Anna Miller went forth exultantly, hugging the certainty to her heart
that Joe, Junior, loved her best and that she had, therefore, a right
to keep him to grow up in an household wherein everyone loved and
wanted him. But all her elation died out at the sight of Mr. Langley’s
face as it looked down from the pulpit. He looked as he had never
looked before, and the girl knew only too well that it was all because
of the baby’s visit to the parsonage yesterday. He looked weary--at
once wistfully and radiantly weary. He looked as if he had been through
floods and stood on mountain summits. He looked, poor dear, as if he
ought to have a darling, cuddling, prattling baby at the parsonage all
the time.
So the question was unsettled again and settled the other way, though
Anna lay awake for hours that night before she announced the painful
decision formally to herself. And even then she did not dare trust
herself until she had burned all her bridges behind her. She hastened
over to the parsonage late Monday afternoon.
At the door, Big Bell enquired eagerly though shyly for the blessed
baby. When Anna told her of his feats with the picture book, Bell
laughed and choked and got out of the way quickly to conceal her
tears. Anna’s eyes were moist as she entered Mrs. Langley’s room.
“O Mrs. Langley, what do you think now?” she cried, and proceeded to
relate the story of the pictures at greater length. And as she told it,
she and Mrs. Langley laughed and cried together in new intimacy.
“Why didn’t you bring him with you?” Mrs. Langley asked wistfully. And
the girl’s heart sank to feel how fatally easy it was to be to give
away the baby. She spoke very low in order to keep her voice steady.
“Because--O, Mrs. Langley, I don’t think we’ll keep little Joe. We all
love him--even ma, but we don’t really need him and--don’t you know
someone who would like a baby boy that talks?”
Mrs. Langley stared at the girl. The blinds were raised to-day, though
not so high, and she wore the pretty gown and becoming arrangement of
her hair. She looked even more attractive than she had on Saturday, for
she seemed used to the change. It was almost as if she had always let
in the sunshine and the rich rosy afterglow which prevailed now and had
never resembled Red-Riding-Hood’s wolf in her grandmother’s cap and
gown. And Anna jumped at the conclusion any young or immature person
might have made that the transformation within must be as complete and
thorough.
“Wouldn’t you like him yourself--you and Mr. Langley?” she asked
gently. “If so, I’ll give him to you as a Christmas present.”
Mrs. Langley only stared the more blankly. The idea was absolutely new
and strange to her mind and therefore startling. Never in all her life
before had she been so surprised, so astounded.
Then suddenly a sharp twinge of neuralgia, zigzagging up her face into
her head converted her confusion into a sort of blind rage. As it died
away, it left her with a sensation of faintness and sickness.
“I don’t know what you are thinking of, Anna Miller, to--to--upset me
so!” she cried querelously. “Of course we couldn’t have him here and I
an invalid! It would kill me--break my heart.”
As for Anna, she was quite confounded. Absolutely unprepared for the
refusal of the precious gift it had cost her so much to proffer, the
repetition of that hateful, meaningless phrase irritated her keenly.
But for Mr. Langley’s sake, she spoke with measure.
“But Mrs. Langley, I thought you were better--a heap better,” she
protested. “Tell me, does your head ache at this very minute?”
Mrs. Langley considered, or tried to do so. “I can’t tell,” she
snapped. “I think it must, but I am so wrought up I’m sure I can’t
tell. But I know this. As soon as you go, I shall find myself suffering
torture, and it’s likely to keep up all night.”
“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to excite you,” murmured Anna meekly.
“But Joe, Junior, wouldn’t excite you, not a bit. And he wouldn’t be
any trouble even to a worse invalid than you were when you were at
your very sickest. He isn’t at all like other babies. Big Bell would
take all the care of him--she knows how to handle ’em and she’s crazy
about him already. And Mr. Langley would play with him--he’d love to,
too--and then whenever you wanted to see him and hear the little love
talk, why all you’d have to do would be to have him brought in--ask
Bell for him.”
“And like as not Bell would have an excuse all ready. I know Bell Adams
better than you do, Anna Miller! She’d keep him to herself all the time
and when I wanted him, she’d say he was having a nap. And he’d like
Mr. Langley better than he would me and he wouldn’t come to me from
him. And--O dear, O dear, why did you come here with your wild notions
stirring me up so that I sha’n’t get a wink of sleep all night!”
Anna looked desperately and forlornly at the big purple roses. A long
pause ensued which Mrs. Langley finally broke.
“Anna, I would like to have you bring the baby over here just as often
as you can,” she said in a conciliatory way. “Of course it wouldn’t be
wise for me to have him in the house all the time in my delicate state
of health, as you would know if you were older or had had experience
with illness. But I would dearly love to have you bring him over every
day besides all Saturday afternoons.”
Slow to anger as the girl was, she wasn’t proof against this. She
sprang to her feet.
“Not on your tintype!” she cried hotly. “That baby shall never come
to this house again unless he comes to stay--never! never! I’ve got
something else to do than tote him way over here every day, and if you
want to see him days you’ve got to shelter him nights. Not that the
darling has to go a begging for shelter, for I’m sure I don’t want to
give him away. But I’ll give you one more chance. Do you want him to
keep, or will you never look on his face again?”
Mrs. Langley began to remonstrate peevishly. Anna repeated her demand
fiercely.
“O Anna, I couldn’t think of doing that. It would break my heart,” Mrs.
Langley almost wailed. Anna turned at the door.
“Very well, then. It’s settled,” she cried, “and you shall never have
him, never! I wanted to keep him myself and now I will and there’ll
be no more fussing about it. I shall give up my life to him and never
marry. And, believe me, I shall never come near this house again!”
“I’m sure, I’m glad to hear that!” retorted Mrs. Langley. “Don’t
flatter yourself that it’s any favour to me your coming here and
ordering me round and stirring me all up in this fashion. I’ll thank
you to pull that curtain down and leave me alone.”
Anna yanked at the blind viciously and down it came, fixture and all,
with a sad crash. Startled out of her wrath, the girl was ashamed and
confused. She was sick at heart, too, with the significance of it, the
drawing down of the blind that had let in light for only a fortnight
out of twenty-odd years. But she fled precipitately, pausing only to
send Bell in to her mistress. And she believed herself to be leaving
the house forever.