“Oh, Tom, of course she’s wild over her baby son!” cried Cis. “I’m going to be wild over him myself! He’s to be one third mine; Nan said so. He’s my godson, or will be, as soon as we can get him made so. What’s his name?”
“Matt, Matthew, for Joe’s father; I’m not keen for it,” said Tom. “Joe wanted it, and Nan always likes to please him, so it’s Matt. Nan wanted him called Cyril.”
“I like Matt better; Cyril is too dressy for Nan’s boy; she’s such a simple, dear little mouse!” said Cis decidedly. “Oh, Tom, here we are!”
“Well, Cis, dear, didn’t you think if the taxi went on running we’d get here?” asked Tom, intending to be humorous, and helping Cis out.
Nan held out her arms when Cis came up the stairs, running to her headlong.
“Oh, Cis; oh, Cis! I’m so glad!” Nan cried, and Cis kissed her with tears, repeatedly.
Nan a wife and now a mother! Not only for Cis had these months been full of changes. Nan had a son to praise God for, but Cis—what had she? Less? No; more! A son was another soul to rejoice over, but Cis felt that the creation of her soul was a wonder greater than ordinary birth.
Nan looked at her with appraising eyes, as Cis arose from her knees beside her, covered over the face of tiny Matt, held in the hollow of his mother’s arm, and fell back a step or two, looking down on Nan.
“Cis, you have changed! But it is all for the better!” cried Nan. “You don’t look one bit unhappy; your eyes are lovely, dear! and you are—what is it? Like a very fine, fine lady, Cis! You’ve written me of your lovely friend, that wonderful Miss Braithwaite, and her house, and her friends, but—what has happened to you?”
“Everything, Nan! I am happy, but I’m still more thankful. It has been a miracle-time for me, more so, even, than for you. I’ll tell you when I may; you must not be tired. I’m quite all right, Nannie; be sure of that,” said Cis.