I choked a little in my throat, and the tears came into my eyes.
“Did you care so much?” asked mother tenderly, and kissed me again. “But it is a great deal prettier for you so; trust me, dear.”
I did not speak then, for I couldn’t; but I tried to swallow the choke and the tears; mother who was always kind, had been so dearly kind to me that day. And Andrew came running up the stairs just then, and bounced in at the door; and there was my dear wax-baby in his arms, and I was a happy little mother; and what happy little mother, with her baby born on New Year’s morning cares how her cap is tied?
The baby was dressed in a pretty white slip and a bib; and there was a blanket with pink scalloped edges, to wrap it in.
“There were dollies a good deal older, and some all grown up,” said Andrew; “but father thought you’d want to have it a real baby, and let it grow. And it opens and shuts its eyes. See here! There! it’s gone to sleep; and now look at my whip!” He pulled it out from under his arm, whence it trailed behind him, and cracked it gloriously with its yellow snappers, right over my baby’s head.
“O, And! Be careful! Give her right to me. Boys don’t know how to tend babies, you know. But you’re real good; and your whip is splendid!”
“Guess I am! Brought her right straight along, and didn’t care a mite, and three boys hollered after me, ‘’Fore I’d be a girl, and carry a rag-baby!’ I just kept her with one hand and cracked my whip with the other, and looked right ahead, as if they wasn’t anywhere!”
I put my arms round his neck, and hugged him and the baby and the whip all together; for my Andie always was a hero, and loved me. He brought me my greatest gift pleasures, and my happiest surprises. Father always took him into the plan, if Andie hadn’t already begged it for me,—whenever there was one. I think our parents had that notion about son and daughter, and what the little man and woman should be to each other. Mother used to set me to do all the little cheery, comfortable home-things for Andie. Andie brought me my wax doll when I was seven years old; he walked down to Jones’s, with father, the day he was seventeen, and brought me home my real, gold watch. I always mended Andie’s stockings after I was old enough,—and quite little girls were old enough in those days; and I made pan ginger-bread for his supper when he was coming home cold from coasting on the Common; and I read to him when he was sick with sore throat and saved money to fill his bag with white alleys when marble-time came round. Andie and I used to promise never to get married, but to keep house with each other when we were grown up. I have never got married; but Andie has been lying in the gray stone tomb at Mount Auburn for thirty years.
My mother hurried me a little now; for Marcella was ready.
We walked down across the Common, Marcella and I; she was to leave me at the door. There was a biting wind, with snow-needles in it; and the path was deep with half-trodden snow; but I was warm in my cloth pelisse with gray fur cape and border,—my quilted bonnet edged with fur, and my thick little mocasins with gray fur round the ankles.