Yes, I thought her very nice and superior. She is the churchwardens niece. Hush! here is Mr Paulby.
Good-morning, ladies, said a little plump man, raising his hat and showing his slightly-bald head. What a lovely morning! I think I dare prophesy where you are going.
If you prophesy Morrisons cottage, Mr Paulby, you are right, said Cynthia, merrily.
Then I am right, said the curate. I have just come from there, and Mrs Morrison has been chatting about old times, and how she went all over the Continent with you.
She didnt tell you about Cyril, I know, said Cynthia to herself.
Im really very, very glad, ladies, that the rectory is inhabited again, said the curate, and I hope you will help me a great deal.
That indeed we will, Mr Paulby, said Julia.
Yes, and visit, and do needlework, and help in the schools, and everything, said Cynthia, quickly. And now we must say good-morning, Mr Paulby. Come, Julia.
There was the customary hand-shaking and raising of the curates hat, and then they separated, the little plump rosy man looking very thoughtful as he made some observation to himself, and that observation was Hah! a remark that evidently meant a great deal.
Im not going to allow that, Ju, said Cynthia, decidedly. The little man is quite smitten with you, and if Frank or Cyril were to know
Dont be absurd! said her sister, colouring a little.
That would be as bad as Perry-Morton. Oh, here we are. Why, what a pretty little place Polly has got!
The sisters stopped at the road-side to gaze at the long low ivy-covered cottage, with a broad patch of green in front, upon which was a lumber of broken carts and waggons waiting to be doctored. There was a shed at one end, from which came the sound of sawing, for which job there was a good-sized pit, while farther on the road dipped suddenly down and passed through a little river, which foamed and bubbled and sparkled as it turned the gravelly shallows into liquid silver in the morning sun.
Oh, what a funny little thing! cried Cynthia, as they were welcomed into the neat cottage. Look at its little button-hole of a mouth. Let me take it, Polly.
The young mother, quite a rustic beauty, with a touch of refinement in her appearance, picked up during her stay on the Continent as maid to the rectors daughters, handed her plump little baby to the extended arms; watchfully, though, and as if afraid the treasure might be dropped upon the red-brick floor.
And how are you, Polly? said Julia, looking rather searchingly at the young wife as she set chairs for her visitors. I hope you are very happy?
Oh, as happy, Miss Julia, as the day is long, and Im so busy that the days are never long enough.
Cooey, cooey, cooey, cooey! cried Cynthia to the baby in a very dove-like manner, as she kissed and fondled it, laughing merrily the while.
I was so surprised, Miss, to hear that you had come back to the rectory.
Not going to stop very long this time, Polly I mean Mrs Morrison, said Cynthia, without raising her face from the baby. We are going to town for the season. Oh, you, you, you funny little thing! Theres a wet mouth. Oh, I say, Ju, I wonder whether I shall ever have a baby of my own.
Cynthia! cried her sister, reproachfully.
It would be such fun. I say, Polly, is it good?
Oh, there never was such a good baby, Miss, and Tom worships it. Shes as good as gold.
She? cried Cynthia. Is it a she?
Oh, yes, Miss, cried the young mother, proudly.
How funny! said Cynthia. It might be anything, it is so round and soft.
Would you mind feeling how heavy she grows, Miss Julia? said the young mother and the baby was duly handed to Julia, who held it to her cheek, and then gazed lovingly at the little thing, her eyes wearing a curious wistful aspect, full of tenderness, while the young mothers face lit up with pleasure.
Isnt it heavy, Miss? she said.
Wonderfully,
replied Julia quietly, and with as much decision as if her life had been spent in the management of babies.
She dont know! laughed Cynthia. I dont believe she ever had hold of one before. Here, give it to me.
No; let it stay, said Julia softly, and to the young mothers great satisfaction, for she seemed rather scared lest Cynthia should let it fall in tossing it up and down.
She gets heavier every day, Miss, and Tom says its wonderful now for a baby a month old.
You must introduce us to your husband, Polly.
Yes, Miss, Ill call him in. Or no, Miss, not this morning, said the young wife, rather hurriedly; he is very busy.
Some other time then, said Julia. I suppose you are very fond of it, Polly?
Fond of it, Miss Julia? Oh, you cant think how I love it.
No, said Julia, softly, and looking curiously at the young mother, I suppose not.
Oh, here is Budge, said little Mrs Morrison, as a heavy, stolid-looking girl entered the room. She will take baby now, Miss. There, Budge, take her in the kitchen, and dont go too near the fire.
No, missus, said the girl, taking the well-wrapped-up baby in her red arms, staring heavily the while at the visitors, and consequently nearly bringing her charge to grief by stumbling over a stool.