"’Tis a boy," said Mrs. Trewhella. "A grand lill chap."
"What's all that noise?" she murmured petulantly.
"’Tis me, my dear soul," said Mrs. Trewhella, "putting all straight as we belong."
May leaned over her sister, squeezing her hand.
"I think I shall like having a baby," said Jenny, "when we can take him out for walks. You know, just you and me, young May."
Chapter XLI: Columbine Happy
JENNY was ivory now: the baby had stolen all the coral from her cheeks. Outside, the treetops shook tremulous black lace across the silver deeps of the sky and jigged with ebony boughs upon the circle of the moon. Clear as bells sounded the slow breakers on Trewinnard beach, and in the tall room a white moth circled round the candle-flame interminably. A rat squeaked in the wall.
"Fancy," said Jenny to May, who sat in the shadow by the foot of the bed. "I thought I shouldn't like nursing a baby, but I think it's glorious."
A curlew cried through the October night and was answered far down the valley.
"I wish mother could have seen my baby," sighed Jenny. "It's my birthday next week. Funny if we'd both been born the same day."