“I don’t know, only—only I know I want her. Don’t get afraid; I never cry. P’raps she’s in America. He says that she’ll come to me here, but I don’t believe him.” Suddenly with a gesture that was all tenderness, she slipped out her hand. “I was so lonely till you came. Together we may find her. I’m going to have a little girl myself one day, and I know I should cry and cry if I lost her.”
“You’d have to get married first. When I was very little, I once——”
She interrupted. “Oh, no! Ladies don’t have to. When they want babies, they speak to God about it. I know because—— Is your mother married?”
“Yes, my mother’s married. My father paints pictures.”
“Is it nice to have a father?”
“Very nice. Just as nice as to have a mother, only in another way.”
“Do—do all boys have fathers?”
“Why, yes. And all girls.”
“They don’t. I’ve asked my beautiful mother about it so often, because I——”
She fell silent, gazing straight before her with the cloud of thought in her eyes. Bones, sprawling across her lap, licked her hand to attract her attention; she drew her hand away, but took no other notice. The brook bubbled past her feet; its murmurous monologue emphasized her silence. Through lichened trees the farmhouse glowed red. In and out the shadows the sunshine danced like a gold-haired child.