Somebody was coming up-stairs behind the servant—a strange man. What was he carrying? Something big, and as shiny as the new musical-box. She hugged the banisters as the two passed.
"What's that?" she said to Matilda.
The servant didn't answer. She and the strange man went by. As Val was in the act of following, her grandmother appeared. She looked at Val a moment, and then called the nurse in a whisper: "Put that child to bed."
To-morrow was the funeral. She should go, she had said.
"No, certainly not," said her grandmother; and Val set her firm little mouth.
After breakfast the next morning, her father went into the room where the baby was, and stayed a long time. The doctor was with her mother. The doctor was a rude man, with a long yellow-white beard; he had spoken as sternly as if he'd been one's grandmother when Val had said she would see her mother. She lingered now by the "best" room door. Would she hear her father crying again? She hoped she would. There was something so horribly exciting in it; it made her feel as if she should die, and yet she listened eagerly to find out if he were doing it again.
No sound. He came out after a long, long while, and kissed her; his face was wet.
"Run to your nurse, my dear," he said.
She didn't tell him Nanna had been sent out. He smoothed her hair, and then went into her mother's room.
She was thinking a great deal about the baby. Nanna had been telling her more about heaven. The nurse hadn't liked it when the child had asked leading questions about the grave. But Nanna herself had said dozens of times before, "I've buried me husband and three childer." What a curious idea to put people in the dirty, black ground! And the baby! It must be very bad for his pretty white clothes. How awful to have earth on one's face, all over the ears and mouth! She choked a little. But one wouldn't feel it, of course; the real baby was in heaven. He would have everything there. "Yellow balls, too?" she had asked Nanna.