A sweet, secluded time to Christie, as she brooded over her little
treasure and forgot there was a world outside. A fond and jealous
mother, but a very happy one, for after the bitterest came the
tenderest experience of her life. She felt its sacredness, its
beauty, and its high responsibilities; accepted them prayerfully,
and found unspeakable delight in fitting herself to bear them
worthily, always remembering that she had a double duty to perform
toward the fatherless little creature given to her care.
It is hardly necessary to mention the changes one small individual
made in that feminine household. The purring and clucking that went
on; the panics over a pin-prick; the consultations over a pellet of
chamomilla; the raptures at the dawn of a first smile; the solemn
prophecies of future beauty, wit, and wisdom in the bud of a woman;
the general adoration of the entire family at the wicker shrine
wherein lay the idol, a mass of flannel and cambric with a bald head
at one end, and a pair of microscopic blue socks at the other.
Mysterious little porringers sat unreproved upon the parlor fire,
small garments aired at every window, lights burned at unholy hours,
and three agitated nightcaps congregated at the faintest chirp of
the restless bird in the maternal nest.
Pages:
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481