“I think she is lighter for me than for you,” Mrs. Hurst answered, smiling. “And I like her—she is such a friendly baby.” She held the dusty bundle closely as they went up the slope.
“Oh—a garden!” said the woman from the tall timber. “Oh, what a lovely garden! Missus, I ain’t seen a flower for near six months!”
“Then I must show you all mine—when you are rested.” Mrs. Hurst put her into a big chair on the veranda. “Just sit quietly until I bring you some tea. No—baby is coming with me.”
“Lor’, it’s like meetin’ an angel from ’eaven!” said the weary creature. She sank back, with a long sigh. “Micky an’ Joe, don’t you touch them flowers!”
“They can’t do any harm—please don’t trouble about them,” Mrs. Hurst said. At the door she looked back. Micky and Joe were standing before a huge sunflower, their faces a study of rapt wonder—never had they dreamed that the world could hold so great a marvel. There were tears in Mrs. Hurst’s eyes as she hurried to the kitchen.
The baby, made happy with a drink, and with hands and face hastily sponged, was placed in an upturned box, where a string of empty cotton-reels threw her into a very ecstasy of joy: she was clearly an unexacting infant, to whom much attention was a thing unknown. There was a kettle boiling: in a very few minutes Mrs. Hurst carried out a tray. Her visitor tried to rise.
“No, you are to sit still. Baby is quite all right. Drink that—don’t try to eat until you feel like it.” She poured out two glasses of creamy milk and put them, with a plate of bread-and-butter, on the edge of the veranda. “Come on, boys!” But Micky and Joe held back, even when their mother called them, overcome with shyness.
“They’re like wild things—they ain’t hardly seen a living soul ’cept ourselves for ages,” said the mother, apologetically. “They don’t mean to be bad-mannered, Missus.”
“And they are not bad-mannered—we’ll be great friends by to-morrow.” Mrs. Hurst smiled. “They will be happier if I go away. Just look after them and yourself, and don’t worry about Baby.” She retreated into the house, and presently, peeping through a curtain, had the satisfaction of seeing Micky and Joe attacking their first drink with faces that began by being doubtful, and ended in pure bliss as the glasses were set down empty.
“You can ’ave more,” she heard the mother say, filling the glasses with a hand that shook. “Drink ’em up, Kids. An’ you be good boys, now, or your Dad ’ll want to know the reason why when he comes!”