“But this one is a girl,” I said.
“Well then,” replied Euphemia, “she may be a president's wife.”
“Another thing,” I remarked, “I don't believe Jonas and Pomona like your keeping their baby so much to yourself.”
“Nonsense!” said Euphemia, “a girl in Pomona's position couldn't help being glad to have a lady take an interest in her baby, and help bring it up. And as for Jonas, he would be a cruel man if he wasn't pleased and grateful to have his wife relieved of so much trouble. Pomona! is that you? You can bring it here, now, if you want to get at your clear-starching.”
I don't believe that Pomona hankered after clear-starching, but she brought the baby and I went away. I could not see any hope ahead. Of course, in time, it would grow up, but then it couldn't grow up during my vacation.
Then it was that I determined to carry out my plan.
I went to the stable and harnessed the horse to the little carriage. Jonas was not there, and I had fallen out of the habit of calling him. I drove slowly through the yard and out of the gate. No one called to me or asked where I was going. How different this was from the old times! Then, some one would not have failed to know where I was going, and, in all probability, she would have gone with me. But now I drove away, quietly and undisturbed.
About three miles from our house was a settlement known as New Dublin. It was a cluster of poor and doleful houses, inhabited entirely by Irish people, whose dirt and poverty seemed to make them very contented and happy. The men were generally away, at their work, during the day, but there was never any difficulty in finding some one at home, no matter at what house one called. I was acquainted with one of the matrons of this locality, a Mrs. Duffy, who had occasionally undertaken some odd jobs at our house, and to her I made a visit.
She was glad to see me, and wiped off a chair for me.
“Mrs. Duffy,” said I, “I want to rent a baby.”