"Begone before I come back," he answered, "or I'll wring your neck, you foul-thinking slut! And look to it you treat her as I do, Margaret, or there may come trouble between us."
He glanced at his wife darkly, then, in most unusual anger, left the threshold and walked across to Rhoda.
"A pair of 'em," commented Dorcas. "And, please Heaven, they'll both be childless to their dying day. I hate the ground they walk on!"
"Don't! don't, for God's sake, curse like that," cried the other, and Dorcas, divining what she had done, was instantly contrite. Indeed, she began to cry.
"I'm--I'm that savage; but not with you, Madge--never with you. Forgive me for saying that. Of course you'll have plenty of children--plenty--more'n you want, for that matter. Never think you won't--such a lover of the little creatures as you be. You'll make up for lost time when you do start. And I hope you'll love mine as well as your own, for, barring me and Billy and Billy's mother, there won't be many to love 'em."
Her words had turned Margaret's thoughts upon herself and made her sad.
"Sometimes there comes an awful fear over me, Dorcas, that I shall have none," she confessed. "'Tis all folly and weakness, yet you'd be astonished how oft I dream I'm to have none. And if it fell out so, I doubt David would break his heart."
"Don't think such nonsense. Dreams never come true, and 'twill be all right," declared Dorcas. "But now I'll clear out, else he'll bully you for talking to me so long after what he threatened. And, David or no David, you've got to be our friend, Madge; because there never was such a dear, sweet creature afore, and never will be. And if 'tis a girl, Billy have promised me I may call it 'Madge'; and I shall do."
Dorcas dried her eyes and prepared to depart, but the other bade her wait a moment.
"A drop of milk you must have; and--and--I know 'twill be a dinky darling, and I shall love it only less than you and your husband will," Margaret said.