“They kin stare if they want to! I could tell things! Some of ’em ain’t no better nor me if all was known. I’ll jest come to spite ’em out. You see—I’ll be there.”
“I shall be so glad,” said Mabella gently, having the rare wisdom to ignore side issues. “I’ll see you, then.”
“Oh, Lor’,” said Ann, whimpering again, “ye won’t want to see me when other folkses are around, and I s’pose you’ve got a white dress and blue ribbings for church, or red bows, like as not. Lor’! Lor’! what ’tis to be born lucky. ‘Better lucky nor rich,’ I’ve heard said ofting and ofting, and it’s true, dreadful true. I never had no luck; neither had mother; she never could cook anything without burning it, and when she dyed ’twas allus streaky! I’ve heard Aunt Ann say that ofting and ofting; he is a fine baby, isn’t he?” she broke off abruptly.
“Yes, indeed,” said Mabella heartily. “Good-bye, Ann,” and stooping she kissed the girl and went out and down the path. Ann stood gazing after her.
“She kissed me,” she said dully, then in an echo-like voice repeated “kissed me.”
The old clock ticked loudly, the kettle sang on the fire, the baby fell over with a soft thud upon the floor. Ann sat down beside him, and clasping him to her breast cried bitterly to herself, and as has been often the case, the mother’s sobs lullabyed the child to a soft and peaceful sleep. She rose, with the art which comes with even unblessed motherhood, without waking the child, and laid him down gently.
“I know she won’t send a pattering with a yoke,” she said in the tone of one who warns herself against hoping too much.
Meanwhile Mabella sped after Vashti; she overtook her in about a mile.
“Goodness, Vashti,” said Mabella; “I’m sure you need not have hurried so! I’m all out of breath catching up.”
“Well, I couldn’t stand it any longer,” said Vashti.