It was, for Azalea, a thrilling moment. Afterward, thinking it all over, she could not tell why her heart so leaped at that first word. Was it because she had no kin, really, that this voice of loving friendship was so sweet to her? Was it that she was proud—she who had been a wanderer and a beggar—to be asked for before all the people? Was it just abounding love for Barbara Summers, her “pretend cousin”?
It made no difference, really. There was Barbara, her dark eyes shining; there was her babe in her arms, fresh and wonderful from sleep; and there was his mother offering him to Azalea.
The two kissed above the baby.
“Honey bunch!” murmured Azalea, and gathered him into her arms.
She saw nothing of how the people came forward to make Mr. Summers and his wife welcome; heard nothing of what Pa McBirney said to them, urging them into his comfortable old mountain wagon. Even the voice of Carin was vague in her ears, though she knew she was murmuring her appreciation of golden curls and blue eyes, of tiny teeth, of dimples, or chubby little hands. But nothing that anybody could say would be too much, Azalea thought. Her hungry heart, never yet satisfied, with all the love that had come to her, wrapped a thousand quivering tendrils about this little laughing child.
“You riding with Miss Carin, Zalie?” asked Pa McBirney.
“Yes, thank you, father. We’ll drive right up to the parsonage, won’t we, Carin?”
“As fast as Mustard can take us,” replied Carin. “The baby won’t mind leaving you a moment, will he, Mrs. Summers?”
Barbara Summers shook her head. She was not given to passing Jonathan over to the care of others, but there was something in the satisfied expression of Azalea’s face that forbade her to take him away.
Carin turned the head of the little yellow pony toward the Methodist parsonage. They had a hill to climb and a dark, curving little road to traverse. But five or six vehicles were ahead of them, and Mustard, who felt like a mere boy in the horse world, and who always was pleased if he could get in a grown-up affair of any kind, trotted along importantly. Lights shone out from among the armored pines. Azalea got out and carried Jonathan through the freshly decorated rooms, with their newly polished furniture and snowy curtains, to the bedroom where the little iron cot awaited Jonathan.