"
Samantha told David after this that she didn't want to hear him open his
mouth again, nor none of his folks; that she was through with the whole
lot of 'em forever and ever, 'n' she wished to the Lord she'd had sense
enough to put her foot down fifteen years ago, 'n' she hoped he'd enjoy
bein' tread underfoot for the rest of his natural life, 'n' she wouldn't
speak to him again if she met him in her porridge dish. She then
slammed the door and went upstairs to cry as if she were sixteen, as she
watched him out of sight. Poor Dave Milliken! just sweet and earnest and
strong enough to suffer at being worsted by circumstances, but never
quite strong enough to conquer them.
And it was to this household that Timothy had brought his child for
adoption.
When Miss Avilda opened her eyes, the morning after the arrival of the
children, she tried to remember whether anything had happened to give
her such a strange feeling of altered conditions. It was
Saturday,--baking day,--that couldn't be it; and she gazed at the little
dimity-curtained window and at the picture of the Death-bed of Calvin,
and wondered what was the matter.
Just then a child's laugh, bright, merry, tuneful, infectious, rang out
from some distant room, and it all came back to her as Samantha Ann
opened the door and peered in.
"I've got breakfast 'bout ready," she said; "but I wish, soon 's you're
dressed, you'd step down 'n' see to it, 'n' let me wash the baby. I
guess water was skerse where she come from!"
"They're awake, are they?"
"Awake? Land o' liberty! As soon as 't was light, and before the boy had
opened his eyes, Gay was up 'n' poundin' on all the doors, 'n'
hollorin' 'S'manfy' (beats all how she got holt o' my name so quick!),
so 't I thought sure she'd disturb your sleep.
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