five o'clock to say that John was waiting he found
them, at peace, with the baby between them.

Luther tucked Elizabeth and her child into the unprotected wagon seat with
concern.

"This wind's a tartar. Pull th' covers down tight over its face, Lizzie.
What's become of th' buggy, Hunter?"

Luther saw Elizabeth's face harden in a sudden contraction of pain, and
glanced across at John, but whatever there was about it that hurt belonged
to Elizabeth alone, for John Hunter pulled at the flapping laprobes
without seeming to have heard clearly and evidently thinking that the
remark was addressed to his wife. Dusk was falling, and Luther watched
them drive away with a premonition of trouble as the night seemed to close
in about them. He turned his back to the wind and stood humped over,
peering through the evening at their disappearing forms. He saw Elizabeth
snatch at the corner of the robe as they turned into the main road, and
dug his own hands deeper into his pockets with his attention turned from
Elizabeth and her possible trouble to that of the child.

"Hope th' little feller don't ketch cold." He turned to the house filled
with his vision of a baby being cuddled close in a mother's arms, and with
a new understanding of the comfort of such cuddling. His breath flew
before him in a frosty stream when he entered the kitchen, and he hastened
to build a fire and set the teakettle on to heat. He lighted a lamp and
set it on a chair, and also stirred the fire in the little stove in
Sadie's room before he went to milk.

"Wisht Lizzie'd come oftener. Wonder why she don't. She don't seem near as
stuck-up as she used to. Say, Luther, Lizzie told me th' queerest thing:
she says th' way a mother feels before a baby's born makes a difference.
She says if a woman's mean before a child comes It'll make th' young one
mean too. She told a lot of things that showed it's true, about folks we
know? I wonder how she learns everything? Ain't she smart! I wisht she'd
come oftener. Say, if I ever get that way again----" The sentence was
unfinished.

"Wisht ours 'd 'a' lived," Luther said longingly.

"Did Lizzie's baby make you feel that way too?"

Luther went to milk with a song in his heart. The little word "too" told
more than all the discussions they had ever had. Sadie had not been
pleased about the coming of the child they had lost.

"If I could get 'em together more," he said wistfully. "It was a good
thing t' have 'er see Liz