At that moment there came a sound from the adjoining bedroom, the door was ajar, a chubby hand reached through the opening, and pulled the door wide, and the next instant, Myron's baby, roused from his sleep by the sound of their voices, came out, and, walking totteringly across the floor, took hold of his grandmother's dress, and stood eying Mrs. Deans with the frank impertinence of babyhood.
His yellow hair was tossed and tangled; his blue eyes, a little heavy yet from sleep, were placid and happy; his face was round and dimpled, one cheek flushed a deep rose from the pressure of the pillow. He looked indeed perfect as any cherubic picture. However such children as he may develop—undoubtedly the blond, rosy, dimpled type is the ideal baby.
There was something grotesque in these two women: their souls grimed with the dust of their own sins, their hearts hardened beneath a crust of their own self-seeking lusts, their bodies calloused by the world, defiled by their own passions, fearing contamination, living or dead, from too near vicinity to that child.
"Run away, My," said his grandmother, giving him a little push. The baby stood still a moment. A gray cat peeped in at the door, and then withdrew its head; with a gurgle of laughter, the child trotted after it.
Mrs. Deans had been eying him steadily since his appearance.
"Now, who does that young one look like?" said she with emphasis, as if to force an answer by her earnestness.
"Nobody," said Mrs. Holder. "He do be 'witched, I think. I never see a child like him afore. You could always see a likeness in some trick or other, but that young one has no tricks with him; them's his ways, such as you've seen: eat—smile—sleep."
"Well, it beats all," said Mrs. Deans, feeling exasperated.
A trill of inarticulate laughter interrupted them, and the baby appeared at the door, the gray cat in his arms, wriggling to free itself. It did. Putting its hind legs against the baby's breast, it sprang out of his arms; the recoil sent the boy down, but he picked himself up and again began the pursuit.
"Now, Mrs. Holder, you was telling me about the cemetery lot," said Mrs. Deans.