But nearly always in Pollys sight; for the first baby was too sacred a treasure in that cottage home to be trusted to any hands for long.
She was a good girl, though, was Budge; her two faults prominent being that when she cried she howled terribly, and that the way to use Tom Morrisons words she punished a quartern loaf was a sight to see.
Budge, fat, red-faced, and round-eyed, with her hair cut square at the ends so that it wouldnt stay tucked behind her ears, but kept coming down over her eyes, came running to take baby, and was soon planted on a three-legged stool on the clean, red-tiled floor, where she began shaking her head and hair over the baby, like a dark-brown mop, making the little eyes stare up at it wonderingly; and now and then a faint, rippling smile played round the lips, and brightened the eyes, to Budges great delight.
For just then Budge was hard pressed. Workhouse matron teaching had taught her that when she went out to service it would be rude to stare at people when they were eating; and now there was the pouring out of tea, and spreading of butter, and cutting of bread and bacon going on in a way that was perfectly maddening to a hungry young stomach, especially if that stomach happened to be large, and its owner growing.
Budges stomach was large, and Budge was growing, so she was hard pressed: and do what she would, she could not keep her eyes on the baby, for, by a kind of attraction, they would wander to the tea-table, and that loaf upon which Tom Morrison was spreading a thick coating of yellow butter, prior to hacking off a slice.
Poor Budges eyes dilated with wonder and joy as, when the slice was cut off, nearly two inches thick, Tom stuck his knife into it, and held the mass out to her, with
Here, lass, you look hungry. Tuck that away.
Budge would have made a bob, but doing so would have thrown the baby on the floor; so she contented herself with saying Thanky, sir, and proceeded to make semicircles round the edge of the slice, and to drop crumbs on the babys face.
Well, lass, said Tom, as Polly handed him his great cup of tea, about the christening? Whens it to be?
On Sunday, Tom, and thats what I wanted to tell you its my surprise.
Whats a surprise?
Why, about the godmothers, dear. Why, I declare, she pouted, you dont seem to mind a bit.
Oh, but I do, he said, only Im so hungry. Well, what about the godmothers?
Why, Miss Julia and Miss Cynthia have promised to stand. Isnt it grand?
Grand? Oh, I dont know.
Tom!
Well, I suppose it is grand, but I dont know. Its all right if they like it. But about poor Jock?
Oh, that wont make any difference, dear. Theyve promised, and I know they wont go back. Theyll be the two godmothers, and you the godfather.
Of course, cried Tom, eating away; two godmothers and a godfather, eh, lass? thats right, isnt it?
Yes, Tom, said the little woman, eagerly attending to her husbands wants, and two godfathers and a godmother if its a boy.
Itll be a grand christening, wont it, Polly? said Tom.
Oh, no, dear. Miss Julia and Miss Cynthia are the dearest and best of girls, and they have no pride. Miss Julia talked to me the other day just like a friend.
I say, cried Tom, eagerly.
What, dear?
Why not do the thing in style while were about it. What do you say to asking young Mr Cyril to be godfather?
If Tom Morrison had looked up then he would have been startled at the livid look in his young wifes
wakeful and watching, with poor Budge fast asleep, with her head upon Pollys lap, and her two roughened hands holding one of those of her mistress beneath her cheek.
The wheelwright walked up to the sleeping babe, and kissed it; then, gently taking Budges head, he placed it upon a pillow from the bed; while, lastly, he raised poor Polly as though she had been a child, kissed her cold lips, and laid her down, covering her with the clothes, and holding one of her hands, as he bade her sleep; and she obeyed, that is to say, she closed her heavy eyes.
In the course of the morning, stern, crotchety old Vinnicombe, the Lawford doctor, sought out the stricken father, finding that he had not been to his workshop, but was down his garden, where, after a few preliminaries, he broke his news.
What? he said, starting. There, sir, Im dazed like now; please, say it again.
Im very sorry, Morrison very, said the doctor, for I respect you greatly, and it must be a great grief to your poor little wife; but I have seen him myself, as I did about Warners child, and he is very much cut up about it; but as to moving him, he is like iron.
I cant quite understand it, sir, said Tom, flushing. Do you mean to say, sir, that parson wont bury the child?
Well, it is like this, Morrison, said the doctor, quietly, he is a rigid disciplinarian a man of High Church views, and he says it is impossible for him to read the Burial Service over a child that was not a Christian.
That was not a Christian? said Tom slowly.
He says he condoles with you, and is very sorry; that the poor little thing can be buried in the unconsecrated part of the churchyard; but he can grant no more.