“The poor thing!” she sighed. “She is a little old woman already. She has never had leave to grow as children should. Oh, why are they brought into the world to suffer?”
She had once thought herself full of trust and love to God, but so many questions had come to the surface with her years of hard experience. Why this little Bess should have suffered four years—but both parents had given her a good constitution, that in some positions in life might have made her a useful factor instead of mere waste material.
Then she took up one of the crying babies. Another was clamoring loudly, “Bed, bed,” and opening wide his mouth to show her how empty it was.
“Oh, how ever did she look after them all?” she cried in despair as Mrs. Murphy entered.
“She had a rare way with childers, that she had.” Mrs. Murphy cut a chunk from the loaf of bread and gave the hungry baby. “An’ the docthor will be in as soon as he kin, but there’s a sight o’ folks waitin’. I have heerd say a grane Christmas made fat graveyards, but this is cold enough to be black. An’ how’s the poor gurl?”
“She seems—asleep somehow, and you can notice her breathin’.”
“I’ll look after Mrs. Bolan, an’ kem down agen,” said Mrs. Murphy, disappearing.
IX—DILSEY
Mrs. Bolan was faintly breathing, as she had been since midnight, but so cold that she might easily be thought dead. Mrs. Murphy’s baby was asleep.
The babies were crowing and talking in their fashion, unmindful of sorrow.