She had finished polishing off the top of the range and held a black cloth in her hand. The hand was very black, he noticed.
He nodded to her and went past her to the door and opened it. The world looked very fresh. The earth and the grass on either side the path were very dark and moist—as if they had been dipped in some curious fluid, and the sky had a kind of luminous quality—swelling with fulness and a freshness of light.
Richard More looked up at it and drew in a deep breath—and with the intake he understood, for the first time, that all men see the earth new-washed one morning in their lives. He had a sense of kinship with the earth and with every one living on the earth.
When he turned back to the kitchen, the woman was putting the black cloth under the sink.
“It’s a girl!” he said. He tried in vain to keep the morning out of his voice.
“Glory be to God!” said the woman. She turned promptly and straightened her back and beamed on him.
He held out his hand to her and grasped the blackened one. He did not suspect how many young fathers had shaken hands with cooks.
His experience was unique. He looked about the kitchen with satisfaction.
Ellen Murphy brought some broth and put it on the gas-range.
He watched her with kindling eyes.