“That is a nice man,” he said of the minister to his wife as they walked along, rapidly softening in his conception of his duty.
“Yes, he was,” agreed Mrs. Gerhardt timidly.
“It’s a good-sized little church,” he continued.
“Yes.”
Gerhardt looked around him, at the street, the houses, the show of brisk life on this sunshiny, winter’s day, and then finally at the child that his wife was carrying.
“She must be heavy,” he said, in his characteristic German. “Let me take her.”
Mrs. Gerhardt, who was rather weary, did not refuse.
“There!” he said, as he looked at her and then fixed her comfortably upon his shoulder. “Let us hope she proves worthy of all that has been done to-day.”
Mrs. Gerhardt listened, and the meaning in his voice interpreted itself plainly enough. The presence of the child in the house might be the cause of recurring spells of depression and unkind words, but there would be another and greater influence restraining him. There would always be her soul to consider. He would never again be utterly unconscious of her soul.