To this last argument there could be no demur, and so the same carriage which at ten o’clock went for Wilford Cameron carried Marian Hazelton to the village where she preferred being left.
In much anxiety and distress Wilford Cameron read the telegram announcing baby’s illness.
“At Silverton!” he said. “How can that be when the child was at New London?” and he glanced again at the words:
“Your child is dying at Silverton. Come at once. M. Grant”
There could be no mistake, and Wilford’s face grew dark, for he guessed the truth, censuring Katy much, but censuring her family more. They of course had encouraged her in the plan of taking her child from New London, where it was doing so well, and this was the result. Wilford was proud of his daughter now, and during the few weeks he had been with it, the little thing had found a strong place in his love. Many times he had thought of it during his journey West, indulging in bright anticipations of the coming winter, when he would have it home again. It would not be in his way now. On the contrary, it would add much to his luxurious home, and the young father’s heart bounded with thoughts of the beautiful baby as he had last seen it, crowing its good-bye to him and trying to lisp his name, its sweet voice haunting him for weeks, and making him a softer, better man, who did not frown impatiently upon the little children in the cars, but who took notice of them all, even laying his hand once on a little curly head which reminded him of baby’s.
Alas for him! he little dreamed of the great shock in store for him. The child was undoubtedly very sick, he said, but that it could die was not possible; and so, though he made ready to hasten to it, he did not withhold his opinion of the rashness which had brought it to such peril.
“Had Katy obeyed me it would not have happened,” he said, pacing up and down the parlor and preparing to say more, when Bell came to Katy’s aid, and lighting upon him, asked what he meant by blaming his wife so much.
“For my part,” she said, “I think there has been too much fault-finding and dictation from the very day of the child’s birth till now, and if God takes it, I shall think it a judgment upon you. First you were vexed with Katy because it was not a boy, as if she were to blame; then you did not like it because it was not more promising and fair; next it was in your way, and so you sent it off, never considering Katy any more than if she were a mere automaton. Then you must needs forbid her taking it home to her own family, as if they had no interest in it. I tell you, Will, it is not all Cameron—there is some Barlow blood in its veins—Aunt Betsy Barlow’s, too, and you cannot wash it out. Katy had a right to take her own child where she pleased, and you are not a man if you censure her for it, as I see in your eyes you mean to do. Suppose it had stayed in New London and been struck with lightning—you would have been to blame, of course, according to your own view of things.”
There was too much truth in Bell’s remarks for Wilford to retort, even had he been disposed, and he contented himself with a haughty toss of his head as she left the room to get herself in readiness for the journey she insisted upon taking. Wilford was glad she was going, as her presence at Silverton would relieve him of the awkward embarrassment he always felt when there; and magnanimously forgiving her for the plainness of her speech, he was the most attentive of brothers until Silverton was reached and he found Dr. Grant awaiting for him. Something in his face, as he came forward to meet them, startled both Wilford and Bell, the latter of whom asked quickly,