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The Story of a Baby


[Decoration: NAVTILVS SERIES]




[Illustration: "'He is exactly twenty-one pounds,' she said."]




THE STORY OF A BABY

BY ETHEL TURNER


[Decoration: The Navtilvs Series]

WARD LOCK & BOWDEN: LIMITED
LONDON · NEW YORK & MELBOURNE
1896




TO THE BEST WOMAN IN THE WORLD

E. T., _Sydney_.




CONTENTS


  CHAP.                                PAGE
     I. THE BURDEN OF IT                  1

    II. THE RED ROAD COUNTRY             11

   III. DOT AND LARRIE FALL OUT          21

    IV. THE 'LITTLE MOTHER'              33

     V. MORE RIFTS IN THE LUTE           45

    VI. LARRIE THE LOAFER                58

   VII. A POCKET MADAME MELBA            73

  VIII. PICTURES IN THE FIRE             83

    IX. A CONFLICT OF WILLS              97

     X. A DARN ON A DRESS               111

    XI. A QUESTION OF OWNERSHIP         124

   XII. A LITTLE DIPLOMAT               131

  XIII. DOT GOES BABY LIFTING           140

   XIV. THE WHEEL IN THE BRAIN          147

    XV. SULLIVAN WOOSTER, GENTLEMAN     154




THE STORY OF A BABY




CHAPTER I

THE BURDEN OF IT


Larrie had been carrying it for a long way and said it was quite time
Dot took her turn.

Dot was arguing the point.

She reminded him of all athletic sports he had taken part in, and of
all the prizes he had won; she asked him what was the use of being
six-foot-two and an impossible number of inches round the chest if he
could not carry a baby.

Larrie gave her an unexpected glance and moved the baby to his other
arm; he was heated and unhappy, there seemed absolutely no end to the
red, red road they were traversing, and Dot, as well as refusing to
help to carry the burden, laughed aggravatingly at him when he said it
was heavy.

'He is exactly twenty-one pounds,' she said, 'I weighed him on the
kitchen scales yesterday, I should think a man of your size ought to
be able to carry twenty-one pounds without grumbling so.'

'But he's on springs, Dot,' he said, 'just look at him, he's never
still for a minute, you carry him to the beginning of Lee's orchard,
and then I'll take him again.'

Dot shook her head.

'I'm very sorry, Larrie,' she said, 'but I really can't. You know I
didn't want to bring the child, and when you insisted, I said to myself,
you should carry him every inch of the way, just for your obstinacy.'

'But you're his mother,' objected Larrie.

He was getting seriously angry, his arms ached unutterably, his clothes
were sticking to his back, and twice the baby had poked a little fat
thumb in his eye and made it water.

'But you're its father,' Dot said sweetly.

'It's easier for a woman to carry a child than a man'--poor Larrie was
mopping his hot brow with his disengaged hand--'everyone says so; don't
be a little sneak, Dot, my arm's getting awfully cramped; here, for
pity's sake take him.'

Dot shook her head again.

'Would you have me break my vow, St Lawrence?' she said.

She looked provokingly cool and unruffled as she walked along by his
side; her gown was white, with transparent puffy sleeves, her hat was
white and very large, she had little white canvas shoes, long white
Suéde gloves, and she carried a white parasol.

'I'm hanged,' said Larrie, and he stopped short in the middle of the
road, 'look here, my good woman, are you going to take your baby, or
are you not?'

Dot revolved her sunshade round her little sweet face.

'No, my good man,' she said, 'I don't propose to carry your baby one
step.'

'Then I shall drop it,' said Larrie. He held it up in a threatening
position by the back of its crumpled coat, but Dot had gone sailing on.

'Find a soft place,' she called, looking back over her shoulder once
and seeing him still standing in the road.

'Little minx,' he said under his breath.

Then his mouth squared itself; ordinarily it was a pleasant mouth, much
given to laughter and merry words; but when it took that obstinate look,
one could see capabilities for all manner of things.

He looked carefully around. By the roadside there was a patch of soft,
green grass, and a wattle bush, yellow-crowned, beautiful. He laid the
child down in the shade of it, he looked to see there were no ants or
other insects near; he put on the bootee that was hanging by a string
from the little rosy foot and he stuck the india-rubber comforter in
its mouth. Then he walked quietly away and caught up to Dot.

'Well?' she said, but she looked a little startled at his empty arms;
she drooped the sunshade over the shoulder nearest to him, and gave a
hasty, surreptitious glance backward. Larrie strode along.

'You look fearfully ugly when you screw up your mouth like that,' she
said, looking up at his set side face.

'You're an unnatural mother, Dot, that's what you are,' he returned