“Yes.... Quite painlessly.”
They walked slowly to the porch. It was nearly milking time. The herd was coming up the long lane,—the sun dipping low behind,—and a delicate rosy light over everything.
“You got your milking to do,” said the doctor. “I’ll notify Wilbur Chase. I’ll see to everything, Elmer.”
Wilbur Chase was the local undertaker. The doctor went out to the road, cranked his car, got in wearily, and rolled away toward the village.
Odell stood motionless. In his ears sounded the cow-bells, tonk-a-tonk, tonk-a-tonk, as the Whitewater herd turned leisurely into the barn-yard. Ed Lister opened the sliding doors to the cow-barn. A frisky heifer or two balked; otherwise the herd went in soberly, filing away behind spotless, sweet-smelling rows of stalls, greeted thunderously by the great herd-bull from his steel bull-pen.
Odell, heavy-eyed, turned on his heel and went upstairs.
But at the door of the silent room above the nurse barred his way.
“I’ll let you know when you can see her,” she said. “She isn’t ready.”
Odell gazed at her in a bewildered way.
“The baby is in the other room,” added the nurse. “Don’t wake her. Better not touch her.”