“My father is in prison now!” she cried. “And he—he is—he isn’t innocent!”
CHAPTER XIX
“WE’RE goin’ to have a green Christmas, sure’s you’re born,” remarked the usually stolid and reticent Bell Adams. “I only hope the rest of it don’t follow. Dear me, if that delicate motherless baby should be took!”
“Bell Adams, I don’t know what you mean, talking like that to me,” cried her mistress. “Just because I’ve forced myself to endure the strong light and have changed a little outwardly, you treat me as if I were as well and strong as anyone. You used to be so careful, Bell.”
That was quite true,—also that Bell had borne herself differently of late. She had not, as a matter of fact, been the same woman since the visit of Anna Miller and Joe, Junior, when she had held the baby in her arms. And since she had in some manner come to understand that the child had been offered to the household and refused by Mrs. Langley, she had been so thoroughly indignant that she could scarcely speak to her mistress. But silence being her usual role, it was only when her anger had cooled into sulkiness that Mrs. Langley felt and resented the strangeness of her demeanour.
“And why you should pick out that little innocent baby—” Mrs. Langley went on in an aggrieved voice.
“I ain’t a-pickin’ of him out,” retorted Bell. “If anybody’s doin’ that it’s the Lord, and if He’s marked him out for early death, why, there you are. And anyways, the little mite hasn’t no real home, so to speak. And he’s too bright to grow up. He ought to be tenderly cherished with that bulgin’ forehead, and his speakin’ out so sudden and complete wasn’t natural.”
Mrs. Langley was too affected to reply. Bell hastened back to the kitchen, for it was the day before Christmas and she was deep in preparation.
Ten minutes passed and a shadow fell across her table. Bell looked up in amazement to see her mistress before her. Mrs. Langley had not left her room for years, and Bell was really frightened.
“For the dear sake, Mis’ Langley, you out of your head?” she cried.