Just at that moment baby awoke and cried again. The woman looked at her with the same look as before—not so much a smile as a sort of haggard radiance.
Then leaning over me she blew puffs of alcoholic breath into baby's face, and stretching out a coarse fat finger she tickled her under the chin.
Baby ceased to cry and began to smile. Seeing this the woman's eyes sparkled like sunshine.
"See that," she cried. "S'elp me Jesus, I b'lieve I could 'ave been good meself if I'd on'y 'ad somethink like this to keer for."
I am not ashamed to say that more than once there had been tears in my eyes while the woman spoke, though her blasphemies had corrupted the air like the gases that rise from a dust-heap. But when she touched my child I shuddered as if something out of the 'lowest depths had tainted her.
Then a strange thing happened.
I had risen to go, although my limbs could scarcely support me, and was folding my little angel closely in my arms, when the woman rose too and said:
"You wouldn't let me carry your kiddie a bit, would you?"
I tried to excuse myself, saying something, I know not what The woman looked at me again, and after a moment she said:
"S'pose not. On'y I thought it might make me think as 'ow I was carryin' Billie."