the same time
to Jenny rather unnatural. And later, when the apple-blossom had fallen,
eglantine and honeysuckle and travelers' joy flung themselves prodigally
over the trees, and when the birds no longer sang, it did not matter,
such an enchanted silence of infinitely minute country sounds took their
place.

As for young Frank, he was to his mother and aunt a wonder. He opened
his eyes very often, and very often he shut them. He kicked his legs and
uncurled his fingers like a kitten and twitched ecstatically to baby
visions. He cried very seldom and laughed very often, and crooned and
dribbled like many other babies; but whether or not the intoxication of
the sweet close urged him to unparagoned agilities and precocities,
there was no doubt at all that, in the companionship of elves, he
enjoyed life very much indeed.

"He looks like an apple lying there," said Jenny. "A great round, fat,
rosy apple. Bless his heart."

"He is a rogue," said May.

"Oh, May, he is a darling! Oh, I do think he's lovely. Look at his
feet, just like raspberries. He isn't much like _him_, is he?"

"No, he's not," said May emphatically. "Not at all like."

"I don't think he's much like anybody, I don't," said Jenny,
contemplating her son.

It might have seemed to the casual onlooker that Arcadia had recompensed
Jenny for all that had gone before; and, indeed, could the whole of
existence have been set in that inclosure of dappled hours, she might
have attained sheer contentment. Even Jenny, with all she had longed
for, all she had possessed and all she had lost, might have been
permanently happy. But she was no sundial marking only the bright hours;
life had to go on when twilight came and night fell. Young Frank, asleep
in golden candlelight, could not mitigate the injury of her husband's
presence. Even young Frank, best and most satisfying of babies, was the
son of Zachary; would, when he grew out of babyhood, contain alien
blood. There might then be riddles of character which his mother would
never solve. Strange features would show themselves, foreign eyes,
perhaps, or a mouth which knew no curve of her own. Now he was adorably
complete, Jenny's own against the world; and yet he was a symbol of her
subjugation. Already Zachary was beginning to use their boy to
consolidate his possession of herself. Already he was talking about the
child's education and obviously making ready for an opportunity to
thrust him into religious avarice