He
stood a moment stroking the baby's curly head, and then with a murmured
"God bless the little lad," he passed on to his own seat. I felt
instinctively that all this sentiment would be exceedingly distasteful
to Mr. Winthrop, and was amused at the look of relief that passed over
his face when our own station was reached. As I returned the baby to his
father, he grasped my hand with a pressure that pained me and said,
scarce above a whisper:
"I will pass your kindness along to some other desolate one some day. It
is the only recompense within my power to make you."
"What I did has been a genuine pleasure. This little fellow has far
overpaid me."
"It was a great deal you did for me just at that bitter moment."
"I wish I could do more to lighten your sorrow," I said, with tears of
sympathy in my eyes as I said my final good-bye, and hastened after Mr.
Winthrop, who was waiting, I knew impatiently, on the platform. I saw
Samuel assisting Thomas to control the horses, who were always in awe of
the snorting engine; and near them stood a lumbering express, into which
the men were putting the long box that I knew contained the rigid body
of the dead mother. Presently the poor husband with his baby crowing
gleefully in his arms, climbed up to the seat beside the driver, and they
started out on their lonely journey. Mr. Winthrop was singularly patient
with me, although I kept them waiting some time while I stood watching
the loaded express pass out of sight.
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