Jake Barnes shuffled away, muttering something to himself about “preaching parsons;” but the other man asked, “Don’t you think, Master Bradford, it is rather bad luck that the day the first white baby opens its eyes in this new land should be wild and rough? I always look, sir, on the bright side when my judgment lets me, but I think it’s a bad sign.”
“Dost thou? See, Hopeful,” cried the old man, “even now the sun has broken through. God be praised! Be there such things as thou speakest of,—chance, signs, and luck,—I wot not of them. But, even so, the day shall dawn dull and hard for us, as we have seen; but when the blessed evensong calleth, it shall be bright as yonder sky for our people, and the next day shall dawn and set with peace and plenty for them, through God’s great mercy.”
“A pity the first child was not a boy: we all think that, sir, don’t you?”
“Ah, Hopeful, the dear Lord knoweth best! This sweet lamb of his fold, born in this heathen land, mayhap she was sent a woman that her constancy may keep her faith bright, though her way be a hard one. God bless her!”
“Why should a woman be more constant than a man, sir? I think we men make the world what it is, and it seems to me rather bad that this child is a girl. We want fighting, not constancy, now. She’ll need as much care and food as if she were going to fell a dozen Indians when she’s grown. There’s been but little work done to-day, the men are all so excited, and all over a bit of a girl.”
“There’s not a man among us that knoweth the worth of a strong arm that the good Lord giveth unto his soldiers, better than I; but I have not the time to be talking to-day of the work of the blessed women in the world. It was the holy Father’s will; praised be his name! Let us bow down in thanksgiving that he hath sent unto us one of his little ones; for where they go they carry his blessing. As thou art pained by the slackness among the men about the work, I’ll keep thee no longer, thou may’st go to thy tasks; mayhap they will follow thy example.”
“Please, Master Bradford, Mistress Wilkins sends her regards, and would have me say that she would be wanting to speak with you.” The speaker was a child of ten or twelve, who courtesied as she gave her message. She was a strange-looking little figure, with her tightly plaited yellow hair drawn back from a very brown forehead. Her pale-blue eyes were a strange contrast to her skin, which was almost copper color from exposure. She wore a plain dark frock, with a kerchief neatly crossed on her breast.
The clergyman took the child’s hand, saying, “I will come at once, Patience, child; art thou going back to Mistress Wilkins now?”
“Please, I will be there almost with Master Bradford, if I may first gather some of those posies to put on the cradle. Mistress Wilkins says I may rock it,” said the child, looking up into the gray eyes that were smiling kindly down on her. They seemed to encourage her; for she added, clasping her hands, and fairly beaming with delight, “The baby is the most beautiful one, sir, you ever saw. I love it, oh, so much! They want to ask you about its name, and when it would please you to give it, sir.”
“Ah, yes, I suppose the governor wills it to be done before we sail; sure, it must be, but I had not thought of it. He is right: I am too old for this life here; my memory is failing me. I shall go back to England and thank the blessed Lord for letting so unworthy a servant do so great a work as to receive for him two precious souls belonging to so strange a time and people,—the red savage Manteo last week; and the wee baby, the first one in a new and heathen land, this week, no doubt.”