THE next morning's mail carried a letter to Mr. Wallingford, announcing the birth of a tiny girl; and that Gertrude was so prostrated by the nervous spasms which followed, that fears for her life began to be entertained. Unfortunately, Edward was absent on business when the letter arrived; but as it was postmarked "haste," the clerk carried it at once to Rose Cottage.
The trial of poor Hannah at being confined to her couch, while her dear child was dying, perhaps for want of her care; may be easier imagined than described. She worried and chafed until she brought on a fever which did not abate until a second letter was received from Chicago, saying Gerty's symptoms were decidedly more favorable.
She had roused from her lethargy, enough to call for her babe; and when once she had it in her arms, could scarcely be prevailed upon to give it up again. The child, which she had instantly whispered was to be named, Rose Wallingford, was so feeble and puny, that it could not probably live many days; and on this slender, delicate prop the young mother's life seemed to be dependent.
As may well be supposed Mr. Wallingford lost no time in hurrying to the bedside of his sister.
He found her looking fragile as a lily upon which the wind has blown too roughly; but with the light of a mother's love beaming from every feature.
"Isn't she a darling?" she murmured as he bent over the tiny form. "I am so happy. If God will only spare her to me, I will try to make her like our mother." The tears filled her eyes as he repeated some of Hannah's many messages.
"If crawling on my hands, and knees, darling, would have taken me to you in time. I would have been glad to go."
"Dear Hannah," Gerty faltered. "It has been a keen sorrow to both of us; but we know it was ordered by a friend who can tell what is best."
"Now," added Edward, "she is beginning to plan for the winter; for she insists you are to spend it in Rose Cottage. Little Rose is to be fatted up on cream from her best Alderney; and all the fowls on the farm are put on good behavior, being expected to lay a certain number of eggs per diem or forfeit their corn."
"If papa will let us, you and I will go and see Hannah; wont we little one," murmured the young mother pressing the infant to her breast—"you and I and Bridget."