“Thrue for ye, Mrs. Minch. An’ sorra indade it is whin ye do be sad that they come into the world, an’ rej’ice whin they go out of it young. They’re spared a dale o’ pain an’ care. Yet it do seem wrong some way. Childers should be a blessin’ an’ comfort to yer ould age. Things is changed in the world. One gits that confused with thinkin’—”
They had prepared some water, but the poor little body was clean and sweet. It was heart-breaking to see it.
Mrs. Murphy went into the bedroom for some clothing.
“Will ye look at the sort o’ bury Dil made out o’ boxes an’ covered. She’s that handy an’ full o’ wit. An’ them clo’es is like snow, and all mended nate. I don’t see how she cud do it wid all the babies. An’ I do be thinkin’ it was Dil’s love that kep’ the little wan alive so long. It was like medicine; her warm arms an’ cheery smile, her patience an’ thinkin’ what wud pleasure Bess. If there don’t be a straight road to hiven fer thim both—an’ purgatory ought to be saved fer the ither kind. Now, it don’t look a bit sinsible that little lamb shud suffer whin she’s suffered so much a’ready! Sometimes I most think the church has mistook whin they save the rumsellers an’ the great wicked men wid their money, cause they kin pay fer prayers.”
“She’s in heaven, if there is any heaven.” Sometimes Mrs. Minch doubted.
“An’ oh, Mrs. Minch, if there wasn’t any hiven to rest us at last, how cud we live through the cruel world?”
Such a pathetic cry as it was!
The doctor came. He looked at Bess, and asked a few questions, made a note or two in his book, cutting short Mrs. Murphy’s explanations.
“Yes, yes; I’ve seen the child. She’s been strung on fine steel wires, or they’d given way long ago. And the old woman? Strange how they go on living when they had a hundred times better be dead, and the people of some account go out like the snuff of a candle! Where’s the girl?” glancing around.
“In there.” Mrs. Murphy nodded towards the room.