His face brightened perceptibly. "It does seem as if a baby
knew a woman's touch," he said, with such a sigh of relief.
"They know when their clothes are comfortable and their hands warm."
"His mother always attended to him. He and I were only playfellows."
"Where is his mother now?" I asked, no longer able to restrain my
curiosity.
"In the freight room." His eyes filled with tears.
"Was it her coffin I saw in the hearse awhile ago?"
"Yes."
"Oh I am so sorry;" and I too burst into tears. He busied himself getting
a spirit lamp lighted, and soon the baby's milk was simmering, and almost
before good humor had been restored throughout the car the baby had
comfortably dined, and gone off into a refreshing slumber. I made him a
snug little bed out of rugs and shawls, and laid him down in blissful
unconsciousness of the cold, still form, even more unconscious than he,
in the adjoining freight room.
The passengers as well as Mr. Winthrop had been watching me curiously,
and my sudden burst of tears had mystified them.
Once the baby was nicely settled to its nap I returned to my seat. Mrs.
Flaxman eagerly asked why there was no woman to look after the baby.
I saw Mr. Winthrop listening, as if interested also in the strange
phenomenon of a man in attendance alone on an infant.
"The mother is in the freight room."
"What?" Mrs. Flaxman asked, looking a trifle alarmed.
"She is in her coffin." My lip trembled, and with difficulty I restrained
my tears once more.
Pages:
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140