“Mrs. Batterly, was there a mark on your baby’s chest—a mark you could identify him by?”
“Yes, yes!—a bright red mark—oh, not large—the size of a quarter—just over his heart.”
“Joey has such a mark, though it is a mark considerably larger than a quarter—and it is higher than his heart.”
A doubt that I was ashamed of stirred my breast, seeing the eagerness on the face before me. A doubt that returned later during forlorn hard days to haunt me. I said to myself that I knew not even on what shore of the great Sound Joey was discovered. But Haidee was speaking impetuously:
“He has grown—the mark has grown too, and is higher up! I have a scar on my forehead almost hidden by my hair that was much lower down when I was a child.” She rose, her face working, her whole slight figure quivering. “Oh, Mr. Dale, give me my child!”
I went to the door and gave my whistle and Joey responded. Haidee took him in her arms, and he told his story to her much as he had told it to me. But when he finished, he looked up in her face questioningly:
“I won’t have to leave Mr. David, will I?” he queried. “He’s my only really, truly daddy. He’d be terrible lonesome without me. Why, I most guess he couldn’t get along without me, Bell Brandon!”
“Dear, dear little boy, don’t you understand? You have a mother, now.” Haidee’s arms held him close. Her cheek rested against his. Looking at her I hated myself for the pang I felt.
And so my little lad went out of my keeping. I left him with Haidee and went back to take up my niggardly existence at Cedar Dale.
Anxious days ensued. My heart was heavy with thoughts of Wanza, I could not eat nor sleep. And every day Griffith Lyttle and I consulted together, and held wearing conclaves in the office of Wanza’s attorney. And someway I found myself distrait and unnatural in Haidee’s presence and consumed with bitter melancholy when alone.