A loud wail from Fanny in her cradle drove the retort from Naomi's lips. She sprang from the arm-chair where she had been resting, and ran heavily across the room to the baby's side.
"What's the matter, my darling? Come to mother, little Miss Fanny. Oh, I know something's wrong with her, or she wouldn't cry so. She's got such a sweet temper really."
She picked the child out of the cradle, and began to walk up and down the room, rocking it in her arms. Fanny's wails grew louder, more long-drawn, and more plaintive.
Reuben came in, and his brows contracted when he saw what his wife was doing. There was a slight moisture on her forehead, and she strained the child violently to her breast.
"Come, Naomi, put her down. It's bad for you to carry her about like this."
"Oh, Reuben, I'm sure she's ill. Can't we send Beatup over for the doctor?"
"No, we can't. There's naun the matter wud her really. She's always crying."
Naomi faced him almost spitefully.
"If one of the boys had hurt his little finger you'd have doctor in at once. It's only because it's Fanny. You don't love her, you——"