She could not allow the child to sleep there, however; so, stooping, picked up Carolyn May and carried her comfortably into the house, laying her down on the sitting-room couch to have her nap out—as she supposed, without awakening her.
It had been many a long day since Aunty Rose Kennedy had stood over a sleeping child and watched the silky eyelashes flutter and the breath part the rosy lips ever so little. Carolyn May’s limbs were dimpled; her golden hair was wavy, though it did not curl; she was sweet and lovable in every way.
Aunty Rose came away softly and closed the door, and while she finished getting dinner she tried to make no noise which would awaken the child.
Mr. Stagg came home at noon, quite as full of business as usual. To tell the truth, Mr. Stagg always felt bashful in Aunty Rose’s presence; and he tried to hide his affliction by conversation. So he talked steadily through the meal.
But somewhere—about at the pie course, it was—he stopped and looked around curiously.
“Bless me!” he exclaimed, “where’s Hannah’s Car’lyn?”
“Taking a nap,” said Aunty Rose composedly.
“Hum! can’t the child get up to her victuals?” demanded Mr. Stagg. “You begin serving that young one separately and you’ll make yourself work, Aunty Rose.”
“Never trouble about that which doesn’t concern you, Joseph Stagg,” responded his housekeeper rather tartly. “The Lord has placed the care of Hannah’s Car’lyn on you and me, and I shall do my share, and do it proper.”
Mr. Stagg shook his head and lost interest in his wedge of berry pie. “There are institutions—” he began weakly; but Aunty Rose said quickly: