CHAPTER IX
COMRADE CHILDREN AT THE FURRY FARM
Well, Marg brought that child home with her, and when she did, she was so excited that she scarce knew what she was doing; bringing an old house on her head, as the saying is. But if she had known itself, or had taken time to think, would that have hindered her?
Not it! She had been the best of a daughter, and a sister, and wife; always doing for others, and forgetting herself. But with all the love she had given out, there was more left still in her heart than had ever been spent. It must have been waiting there for that baby of Rosy’s. For once Marg got the feel of it in her arms, small and soft and helpless, she knew it was what she had been hungry for, those years upon years past, and had given up all hopes of ever having for herself.
And now, at last she had it, and she was satisfied. No one else wanted that grand little baby; no one else had any call or claim to it. It wasn’t of the Union Marg was thinking, really; let alone of Grennan’s being so poor a little home, that to have another mouth there to fill wasn’t lightly to be thought of. No, she made no account of these things. They were all lost in the one wish that was burning in her heart. She must have that child for her very own.
And curious, too, it was, how little Marg seemed to consider Mickey himself in this matter, as if she didn’t care how he’d feel about the little newcomer! In fact, the night she brought the baby home, she was more like an old ewe with her lamb than anything else; on for fight with even a strange dog that may happen by. And poor old Mickey, sitting there so peaceable!
To give him his due, there never was a word said by him, as if he objected to the fuss of having the child there. Of course, it altered things a good deal. A baby coming into a house always does. And hasn’t it a right to? What are children for, only to teach us, in their own little way, by making us take care of them! Sent down from heaven they are, to help to show us how to get there. It’s a queer sort of man, let alone a woman, but will be the better of having to do with a child. For you have to be good to it; and then it does good to you, back again.
Now, Mickey was one of the best, if slow and silent; but good and all as he was, you may easily imagine that he’d feel a bit put about betimes, at finding himself left to himself in such things as not having the stick within reach; or putting his specs out of his hand and forgetting where they were; or having to wait of a morning to have his brogues laced upon his feet, because Marg would be engaged with the child.
He’d say nothing; that was his way; just sit there, most patient. But it’s often he’d be wondering how a thing so little would require so much! For by the time Marg would have the baby bathed and dressed of a morning, and hushoed off to sleep at night, let alone the feeding of her through the day, there appeared to be little time for anything else to be done. Not that Marg did neglect the work. She managed it by getting up earlier and going to bed later, and so she would contrive to overtake all. And the things to be done seemed to her less trouble than ever now; because always there was the baby, waiting and wanting her, Marg Heffernan, and no one else.
Marg would have been contented to spend all her time with the child, petting it upon her knee, and playing with its fingers, or making drakes’ tails out of the little soft wisps of hair upon the head of it! Not that I’m wanting to make little of the child or her hair, either! But at the beginning, she was next door to bald. As she grew big, she grew nice, and had the loveliest head of yellow curls you might ask to see. She had no touch of a Heffernan about her at all.
That was the child that lit on her feet and no mistake, when she was brought to the Furry Farm! She that was well minded; too well, in fact. Poor Marg could scarce bear the wind to blow or the sun to shine down upon her; only watching every turn, as if she thought some danger was waiting to happen to that child, if she took her own eye off her for a minute.