Molly made no reply: she could not be cruel enough to hint that three of the eight had died.
Happily for Molly and the carrying out of her views, Mrs. Lennox, who had become a very dear friend, was with her very much, and it was her nurse, an intelligent woman, who was in attendance; and between them they had been able to save Molly much anxiety. She knew that her own orders, and no one’s else, would be carried out; this otherwise would have been a terrible anxiety; for her doctor had said to her, in one of her talks with him before the birth of the child, “Half the babies’ stomachs are ruined in the first month, and the poor baby becomes a victim to colic and indigestion through that month’s mistakes. Some babies are born to it, but these are few compared with the many that are made to suffer by bad habits.”
Mrs. Bishop, senior, disapproved of the nurse, and openly derided the doctor, and audibly scorned the idea of putting a baby a fortnight old in “training” and freely told her daughter that Molly was not fit to be a mother; that she ought to have remained single and become a doctress, or screeched for woman’s rights from a platform.
The excitement of the contention on Molly had to be stopped, and, unknown to his wife, Harry, instigated by Mrs. Lennox, had to warn his mother that she must leave Molly to her own ideas, even if they were mistaken; and Mrs. Bishop had contented herself afterwards with expressing her opinions and her fears. But when, in spite of all, the baby flourished and grew fat, and seemed freer from the ills of babyhood than the average, she averred it was owing to the cast-iron constitution it had inherited from its father. She declared that “to point to Molly’s child as a proof that the new ideas of bringing up babies are better than the old is as reasonable as to point to the health and strength of the Germans as a proof that babies ought to be swaddled and bound on to boards for the first months of their lives, in order to become so strong and straight. One forgets the number who die under the process, and it is only the very strong who survive.”
And this, strangely enough, was exactly what Molly also said to herself when she heard that Harry “actually owed his life to soothing syrup,” which had enabled him to survive his teething troubles.
And so with a beautiful, healthy baby (whom, by the bye, Harry now dandles with great pride), a new house, and the delightful task of furnishing it, in these days of pretty furniture and dainty devices, we leave Molly with as bright a future before her as a loving husband, good health, good prospects and a resolve to be a good, true wife and mother could give to any woman.
Of Marta there are a few words to be said. Those of Molly’s friends who are not very often at the house consider Mrs. Bishop a very fortunate woman in having such a treasure. Molly herself thinks so; but I doubt if half those who so speak would have been satisfied with Marta’s moderate gifts. She was a treasure because she was true and faithful in everything. Her service was not better than that of any clean, strong, willing girl, under the eye of an intelligent mistress.
“But Marta was such a wonderful cook!” some would say. Marta would never be a good cook unguided; it was not in her; she had had the exceptional advantage of training under a woman who, if she had needed it, had qualified herself to teach cooking professionally; who cooked scientifically from precise rules, and who herself had very little to learn when she began with Marta, and who had patience as well as knowledge.
How few girls have such a chance! We send girls to a cooking-school to take twelve or twenty-four lessons, and we know that if they are of the right material (and if not we should hardly send them), they leave the school vastly improved, with quite different ideas from those who have been through no such training; and Marta had been at such a school daily for many months, yet, at the end of them, her accomplishments were not many. She could fry, stew, roast, and make soup to perfection. She could not be trusted to do anything that depended on flavor or taste; she never seemed to learn that one clove may be pleasant, half a dozen detestable; that herbs should only lend a vague savoriness, never be so strong as to make one feel they were partaking of marjoram soup or parsley stew. But Molly knew her limitations and knew—take her all in all—she was not likely to better herself by changing. A girl of quicker wits might have been less faithful, or, if so bright as to learn all Molly could teach, she would naturally and rightly wish to take a place as professed cook, with her thirty or forty dollars a month wages, and no washing. So Marta remained, a very devoted servant; very exasperating sometimes, but at all times valuable.
Mrs. Lennox has only one thing to say; she does not regret taking Maggie; she is no worse off in her pocket, and is better off in nerves and muscles; the tired, overworked look is no longer conspicuous. She is still overworked and overworried, but she has a strong pair of arms to call upon, and they are willing to do the appointed task which Mrs. Lennox always remembers she must otherwise have done herself. Maggie needed watching at every turn the first few months; she now knows the ways and does the work fairly well. She is no paragon, and if Mrs. Lennox had no children she would rather be without her, but when she gets out of patience she looks back and remembers how she had not even time “to think” before she came; when she did sit down her muscles ached and tingled so that even rest was a dull void, simply cessation from exertion. Mrs. Lennox now does the cooking and the sewing; Maggie does the work. She will never do more in the cooking way than boil potatoes, make mush and bread (the latter well, for she knows only one way and that is the way she does it), and burn or smoke a beefsteak. But Mrs. Lennox will soon have either to pay her more, or take another new arrival; that is inevitable.