“Uh-huh!” Brown must respond.
What was a shadow upon the gentle spirit of “By-an’-by” Brown was the sunlight of certain expectation irradiating “By-an’-by’s” baby. But the maid fell ill. Nobody knew why. Suspicion dwelled like a skeleton with “By-an’-by” Brown; but this he did not divulge to Blunder Cove. Nothin’ much the matter along o’ she, said the Cove; jus’ a little spell o’ somethin’ or other. It was a childish indisposition, perhaps—but come with fever and pallor and a poignant restlessness. “By-an’-by” Brown had never before known how like to a black cloud the future of a man might be. At any rate, she must be put to bed: whereupon, of course, “By-an’-by” Brown indefinitely put off going to bed, having rather stand watch, he said. It was presently a question at Blunder Cove: who was the more wan and pitiable, “By-an’-by’s” baby, being sick, or “By-an’-by,” being anxious? And there was no cure anywhere to be had—no cure for either. “By-an’-by” Brown conceived that the appearance of Long Bill Tweak would instantly work a miracle upon the maid. But where was Bill Tweak? There was no magic at hand to accomplish the feat of summoning a scamp from Nowhere!
One windy night “By-an’-by” Brown sat with the child to comfort her. “I ’low,” he drawled, “that you wisht a wonderful sight that your father was here.”
“Uh-huh!” the maid exclaimed.
Brown sighed. “I s’pose,” he muttered.
“Is he comin’?” she demanded.
“Oh—by-an’-by!”
“I wisht ’twas now,” said she. “That I does!”
Brown listened to the wind. It was blowing high and bitterly: a winter wind, with snow from the northeast. “By-an’-by” was troubled.
“I ’low,” said he, hopelessly, “that you’ll love un a sight, won’t ye?—when he comes?”