“I’m not!” said Rachel.
“You are!” said Mrs. Peace, and drew down the shades and went out closing the door after her.
Mrs. Peace’s indignation even extended to Grandmother. “I believe she don’t care, either!” she said. “Grandmother, I really believe you don’t care that Rachel is a heathen and a publican, and had ought to be slapped instead of fed and cockered up.”
Grandmother looked up with a face so radiant, it seemed to startle the whole room into sudden light.
“Oh, but she will!” she said. “She will care, dear Mrs. Peace. She can’t possibly help it, you know, when she comes to get about and hold the little darling angel, and feel its little blessedness all warm in her arms. She can’t help it then, my Precious Precious, can she? Oh, Mrs. Peace, she is smiling. Anne, Anne, come quick, she is smiling.”
“Wind!” said Mrs. Peace calmly.
Grandmother flushed and looked almost angry. “How can you, Mrs. Peace?” she said. “But I know better, I know! I almost heard them whisper; I almost heard the rustle—”
“What rustle?” asked Anne under her breath.
But Grandmother only smiled down at baby. “Rachel says I may name her!” she said. “Isn’t that kind of her?”
Mrs. Peace sniffed.