She never looked up as we went in, but bent over little John, moistening
his lips from time to time, and watching his every movement. We tried to
say a few words of comfort, but she did not seem even to hear our
voices. Yet no moan, no sigh from the child was unheard by her; she
seemed to be listening to every breath he drew, as if it might be his
last.
I thought that terrible day would never have an end. Mr. Christie stayed
with us until dark, and then he took me home with him to supper, that I
might get a little change and rest before my night watch. I think they
knew how tired I was, worn out more by feeling than by want of sleep,
and they were very good to me. I do not think my own mother could have
been more kind to me than Mrs. Christie was that night. She told me that
she would have had a boy nearly as old as I was if he had lived, but he
had died when he was very young; and then they had had no children for
many years, not until Marjorie was born.
'Your mother was so good to me when my baby died,' she said.
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