can hardly believe such an atom could be endowed with life.”
“You can’t expect a child born before its time to be a giant,” remarked Mrs. Pepperfly as she passed into the next room.
“Before its time, indeed!” irascibly echoed the stranger; “what business had she to be exposing herself to railway jerks and shaking omnibuses? Nasty dangerous things! The jolts of that omnibus sent me flying up to its top, and what must they have done by a slight young thing such as she is? Now, a mile of ruts to get over; now, a mile of flint stones! I think the commissioners of roads here must be all abed and asleep.”
“People are continually talking of the badness of the road between this and the Great Wennock Station,” observed Judith. “It is said that Mr. Carlton made a complaint to the authorities, telling them it was ruin to his horse and carriage to go over it. Then they had those flint stones laid down, and that has made it worse.”
“Who’s Mr. Carlton?”
“He is one of the medical gentlemen living down here.”
“And why couldn’t they attend to his complaint?”
“I suppose they did attend to it; they put the flint stones down in places afterwards, and they had done nothing to the road for years.”
“What has this child been fed on?” demanded Mrs. Smith, abruptly quitting the unsatisfactory subject of the roads.
“Barley-water and milk, half and half,” replied Judith. “It was a puzzle to Mrs. Pepperfly at first what to give it, as it’s so small.”
“I don’t like the look of her,” curtly returned the stranger, alluding to Mrs. Pepperfly.
“If we were all bought and sold by our looks, some of us would remain on hand, and she’s one,” said Judith. “But she has her wits about her; provided she keeps sober there’s not a better nurse living, and when people know her failing they can guard against it.”
“What are you? another nurse?”
“I am only a neighbour. But the lady took a fancy to me, and I said I would stop with her a few days. My home just now is at the next door, so I can run in and out. I am sure she is a lady,” added Judith.
“She is a lady born and bred, but she took and married as-as I think she ought not to have married. But she won’t hear a word said against him.”
“Will he be coming here?” continued Judith.
“It’s no business of mine whether he comes or not. They’ll do as they please, I suppose. Where’s this infant’s things? They must be made into a bundle; and some food prepared for it.”
“You are not going to take the baby away!” exclaimed Judith, looking all amazement.
“Indeed but I am. The trains don’t run thick on a Sunday; but there’s one leaves the station at seven, and I shall travel by it.”
“And you are thinking to take this little mortal all the way to London? said Judith, breathlesely.
“There’s no reason why I shouldn’t take it away, and there’s a cause why I should,” persisted Mrs. Smith; “whether it’s to London, or whether it’s elsewhere, is my affair, Wrapped in flannel and lying in my arms in a first-class carriage, it will take no more harm than in this room.”
Judith felt that it was not her place to interfere with Mrs. Crane’s arrangements, whatever they might be, or to put prying questions to the stranger before her, and she relapsed into silence.
“You were expected last night, ma'am,” said Mrs. Pepperfly, returning to the room from the inner chamber.
“I dare say,” was the curt answer, “but I couldn’t come. I travelled all night to come as soon as I did.”
“And you’ll travel all night again tonight?” questioned the nurse.
“It won’t kill me.”
At that moment Mr. Stephen Grey’s step was heard on the stairs. He went on at once to the bed-chamber by the direct door, not coming to the sitting—room; Mrs. Crane was flushed and feverish with excitement, and the surgeon saw it with surprise; he had left her so calm and well at his early visit that morning.
“What have you been doing to yourself?” he exclaimed.
“I feel a little hot,” was the answer, given in a half-contrite tone, “it is nothing; it will soon go off. The person I told you of is come, and she—she—" Mrs. Crane paused for a minute and then went on—“she lectured me upon being so imprudent as to travel, and I got angry with her.”
Mr. Stephen Grey looked vexed. “So sure as I have a patient going on unusually well, so sure does she go herself and upset it by some nonsensical folly or other. I will send you a composing draught; and now, my dear, understand me: I positively interdict all talking and excitement whatever for a day or two to come.”
