The Soul of Susan Yellam Part 45

How dared they smile?

She was not needed yet upstairs. So she sat on in the gate of her sorrows, alone in the valley of Achor.

She heard Solomon scratching at the door. She had left him asleep in his basket, always placed each night by the kitchen hearth. Mrs. Yellam let the dog scratch, but when he began whining she let him in, because Fancy might be disturbed, not because she wanted her dog.

Solomon looked at her, and knew.

He governed himself accordingly. Mrs. Yellam had returned to her chair.

Solomon lay down at her feet. When she wanted to talk to him, she would do so. He kept one ear c.o.c.ked for the first word.

During twenty minutes no word was said. The nurse was in charge of Fancy and the baby. Mrs. Yellam had looked forward to a.s.sisting at these first rites. The expected pleasure had turned into a grinding pain.

Fancy was going, drifting out of life. Probably her baby would not survive her many days. But she, the old woman, would remain. She gazed down the long perspective of the years to come, cold, dull days without one gleam of sunshine, full of inevitable pain.

"I can't bear it," she said aloud. "It be too much for me."

Solomon heard. He knew, of course, that the long-awaited words were not addressed to him, but they sounded a clarion note of distress.

He laid his head against her knee.

She looked at him, meeting his clear young eyes. They seemed to be full of interrogation.

"If you want to talk, why not talk to me instead of to yourself?"

She patted his head, and let her hand rest upon it. According to Uncle, fool-wisdom in dogs warned them of impending disaster. Mrs. Yellam knew that Solomon had behaved strangely upon the fifteenth of December. Uncle had drawn conclusions from this which he shared with Fancy and his sister. If fool-wisdom on the part of dogs could be interpreted by man, and he held that he was the man to do it, why, then, the fact of Solomon acting "queer" during the day of the fifteenth surely indicated fore-knowledge of Alfred's danger. But the attack had taken place at night. And the dog had exhibited no "queerness" after sundown. Fancy had been much impressed. In his heart, however, Uncle could not envisage Alfred as a prisoner. And we know that Mrs. Yellam shared this view. At the same time, with her loss of faith in the mercy of Omnipotence, and filling the vacuum which Hamlin so abhorred, came the old craving to clutch at "signs." It is quite likely that if the cards had "told true,"

and if a boy were now lying in the cradle upstairs, that Mrs. Yellam would have fought despair more valiantly. She might have persuaded herself that Fancy would "pull through" and that Alfred would come back.

At this moment she was at a low ebb mentally, although physically able to confront any emergency. Despair destroys _morale_, as soldiers know, and, paralysing action, heightens sensation. Mrs. Yellam's overwrought brain refused to function normally.

Solomon, she reflected, was not acting "queer."

If Uncle were right----! If fool-wisdom could be trusted----!

She asked Solomon a question.

"How be you feeling, my dog?"

Solomon left her tired mind in no doubt on that point. He wagged his tail, wriggling convulsively, ready to bark with any encouragement.

"Shush-h-h! Don't 'ee bark, till I gives leave. What do 'ee think about Fancy? Be she so bad as Doctor makes out?"

Solomon tried to lick her hand.

"That bain't an answer, Solly."

He wagged his tail.

Astounding as it may seem, this comforted Mrs. Yellam. She went upstairs, peeped into her former room, perceived that Fancy was asleep, and said to the nurse:

"She be in a be-utiful sleep. Let's see the baby."

The two women looked at the baby, and agreed that it was a fine specimen. Mrs. Yellam said impressively:

"Pore dear soul! She thinks it a He. Maybe 'twill be best not to undeceive her."

"She'll find out, Mrs. Yellam."

"Ah-h-h! A crool shock. I allows that it be my duty to prepare her."

"She's low," said the nurse, in a professional tone. Mrs. Yellam knew that the doctor, before leaving, had given the nurse instructions. The nurse, however, made light of apprehension, saying incisively:

"We'll pull her through, Mrs. Yellam. Nothing needed but constant care for the first few days. Doctors always scare the gizzards out of us because they think that we won't be careful unless they do."

This was comforting. After more talk, Mrs. Yellam prevailed upon the nurse to lie down. She proposed to sit by Fancy. The baby could be trusted to be quiet, being a She, and, seemingly, blessed with a pleasant temper.

Fancy still slept.

Mrs. Yellam took the chair by the bedside. If nothing but care and vigilance were needed, they should be forthcoming. She vowed to herself that she would fight, tooth and nail, for this life, neglect no precaution, run no risk. Physically, she braced herself for the combat.

Long ago, she had fought for the life of a child--and won! Doctor and mother had despaired. It was a case of pneumonia. Hour after hour Mrs.

Yellam had applied hot cloths to the child's breast. And she had willed fiercely that the child should live. Her strong will _had_ saved it.

Everybody admitted that, even the doctor.

Fancy slept for some hours. She awoke refreshed, free from pain, but pitifully feeble. After obediently swallowing some food, she asked to see the "boy."

"All in good time," said Mrs. Yellam blandly.

"But I may drop off to sleep again."

"And a very good thing, too. The baby is asleep."

"Has he blue eyes?"

"Baby's eyes be allers blue at first."

"Is he like Alfred?"

"The living image. Now, don't 'ee talk."

"If you bring him to me, I'll be ever so quiet."

"I'll bring the child directly minute. 'Tis a lil' beauty, and a real credit to 'ee. Alferd'll be tickled to death. Unbeknownst to yourself, dear, you bore him what he wanted, and what I wanted. Now, I'll bring her in."

"Her----!"

Fancy closed her eyes. Mrs. Yellam watched her anxiously. She saw two tears trickle down the disappointed mother's cheeks. But she was smiling, quick to see the joke against herself.

She gave a little laugh, an attenuated sound, but the genuine article.

"Let's see her, Mother."