Peter watched hourly for her coming—he never doubted it would be a her. He would inquire several times daily, “Will it be soon?” There was always the same answer, “Peterkins, Peterkins presently.”
One night he heard the same sounds that had amazed him at the smacking lady’s house—whispers, running on the stairs, doors opening and shutting. He waited for the weak, thin wailing; but that did not follow. Nevertheless, he was sure it had happened: wrapt up warmly, in softy angel-feathers, God had sent him a sister for himself.
It was very late when Grace came to bed. Peter pretended to be asleep; he feared she would be angry. Slowly he raised himself on the pillow, his eyes clear and undrowsy.
“Why, Master Peter!”
She turned from the mirror so startled that, as she spoke, the hair-pins fell from her mouth.
53
“What a fright you give me! I thought your peepers ‘ad been glued tight for hours h’and hours.”
“Has she come? Has she come? Did a lady-angel bring her?”
“Lor’ bless the boy, he’s dreamin’! Now lie down, little Round Tummy. Grice won’t be long; then she’ll hold you in ‘er arms all comfy.”
“But Grace, she’s downstairs, a teeny weeny one—just big enough for Peter to carry.”