Elizabeth made it a rule never to argue unless there was hope of righting things. To say one word more was to lose her temper and that she tried not to do. The girl was really very ill; her head ached, and her body was sore and tender. She had not had a whole night's sleep for weeks and every nerve in her body cried out for rest; she wanted the light put out, she wanted to get quiet and to forget the house, and to be freed from the confusion; she was so nervous that she started at every noise. The night was cool and Jack, who shivered in his thin gown, crawled into his father's lap. John wanted to think at that moment, and to get rid of him put him firmly down on the foot of the bed, moving over to give him room at his side as he did so.

"Oh, don't shake the bed!" Elizabeth exclaimed, with such concentrated irritation that John set the child on the floor hastily.

"I only thought you could watch him a minute. I can't keep him on my lap all the time," John replied.

"Well, put him in the bed then, or tie him up or do something. I don't want to watch him, and his climbing around on the bed sets me crazy!" she exclaimed, pushing the child away from her pillow.

"We don't tie children up in the Hunter family," John replied, as usual falling upon the unimportant phase of the discussion and, instead of putting the child in bed, carried him off to the sitting room, where he fell into another brown study and let the baby slip from his lap again.

Jack, as soon as released, ran back to the bedroom and threw himself up against the side of the bed, stretching his arms up to be taken.

"Don't, dear; go to papa," Elizabeth said, trying to reach him.

Jack sidled away toward the foot of the bed, where he regarded his mother with stolid eyes, and beat a tattoo on the bed-rail with his hard little head.

"Jack! Don't do that!" she commanded sharply.

It was torture for her to have the bed jarred.

Jack, baby fashion, raised his head and gave the bed-rail another whack.

Elizabeth sat up suddenly and gave the child such a resounding slap that he sat down, shaking the whole house with the impact, his screams quite in keeping with the occasion. John carried the crying child out of the room, shutting the door with such a bang that the house and bed shook anew, and the girl had to bite her lip to keep from screaming.

It was the first time Elizabeth had ever struck her child in anger.

Usually gentle and patient with his baby wilfulness, her heart recoiled at the deed. She knew that the possibilities of that action had been growing upon her of late. Nothing could excuse it to the accusing judge of Elizabeth's own soul. It was as if she were fenced around with a thousand devils; turn where she would there was no help and but little hope. She had come to understand herself enough to know that with sufficient provocation she would almost certainly do it again. The girl thought of her father. The deed was so like things that she had seen him do that she almost tore her hair as she prayed to be spared such a soul-destroying fate.

It was Jack's future estimates of her that caused her so much distress.

The things emphasized by the mother in a home, she knew, were the things emphasized in the lives of her children. She had only to look at Jack's father to see the evidences of that truth. Mrs. Hunter's cleanliness and order, her tendency to over-emphasize details, were her son's strongest watchwords. It was absolutely imperative that she do the right thing by Jack. As she pondered she decided that she would rise up and make one more effort for the child. Then, like a creeping serpent, the thought of her att.i.tude toward the child of her body suddenly presented its forked tongue and demanded that its future be reckoned with. From what principle was she dealing with it? Elizabeth knelt before the shrine of that child, not in joy and adoration, but with a fear which had almost become a hatred.

Elizabeth did not realize that it was the work and worry which she had gone through in these last weeks which made her irritable. She did not recognize the difference between nerves and temper, but she had come to understand that the unborn child was draining her strength. The prayer in her heart as she lay there thinking it out was for help to adjust her life to the conditions which she must meet, for strength to control herself, and for the power to so order her mental att.i.tude toward this new child that she might be able to love it as it certainly deserved to be loved.

But even as she prayed a horrible thought took possession of her:

"If only it would die and be prematurely released, as Doctor Morgan had said there was danger of it doing!"

It was then that Elizabeth Hunter realized the possibilities in herself.

That was murder! If John complicated her work throughout eternity it would not warrant such an att.i.tude. But this second child! It was the absorbing topic of her thoughts as she vainly tried to rest. She was so worn out that she could face no more work than she already had to do, and ever as she thought this serpent of temptation thrust its head out at her and said: "If the child would only die!"

Elizabeth had only to get out of bed and go to work to rid herself of the hateful burden in the present state of her health, but under no circ.u.mstances would she have done it. She would have parted with her right hand before she would have helped to destroy a life she had permitted to spring into being, and yet---- The thought occurred, and recurred, in spite of every effort, "If only----" And she knew that if it happened without her a.s.sistance she would be glad.

Elizabeth's distress increased, and when John brought her dinner on a tray covered with a fresh napkin and beside the plate a violet he and Jack had found in the pasture she brightened with pleasure at the dainty arrangement, but did not touch the food.

"Now be good to the baby; he's been asking for you all morning," he said, kissing Elizabeth with an effort at kindliness and understanding.

Elizabeth's head was aching wildly, and she was so nervous that she could scarcely endure being spoken to at all.

"Then don't leave him here, John, for I can't bear to have him fussing around," she said, trying to be appreciative.

"Oh, well, if you don't want him at all, I'll take him out again," he said crossly, setting the tray on a chair beside the bed.

He was able, however, to see that the girl was not altogether herself, and shut the door behind him carefully. The door shut so softly that the latch did not catch. When Jack finished his dinner he came running to his mother's room at once. The door gave way under his hand and he stood looking into the room curiously. After a glance around, he advanced confidently toward the bed with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Elizabeth set her teeth hard. She was unable to reach out and lift him to a chair where he would not jar the bed, so it was her intention to be patient.

Jack's eyes fell upon the tray as he pa.s.sed it, and he wheeled around and took stock of the contents of this new form of table. Frantic with irritability and knowing that she would be at fault in the manner of correcting the child, his mother let him eat out of the plate she had left untouched, rather than have a scene with him. Presently, however, Jack laid down the spoon with which he had been eating and attacked a dish of berries with his hands, letting the drops from the ends of his fingers trickle down the front of his clean gingham dress. Elizabeth happened to look up and saw what he was doing. There was no telling when she could get another washing done and her impulse was to spring at him and s.n.a.t.c.h him from harm's way, but she was trying to be more gentle and, drawing in a deep breath, she spoke as quietly as she could command herself to do.

"Don't do that, Jack," she said, reaching out her hand to take him by the arm.

Jack clutched the dish in sudden haste and raised it to his mouth, letting a stream of the purple juice dribble from it to his own bulging front before his mother could get her hand on him. Then, fearing a repet.i.tion of the blow of the night before, the baby threw himself on the floor, screaming loudly.

John came excitedly from the kitchen.

"What have you done to him now?" he asked, and without waiting to hear her reply went out, flinging the door back with a crash.

It was nearly dark when Doctor Morgan came, but although he was anxious to get back to his office he saw at once that he must stay with the suffering girl.

In the morning he called John out to the buggy and had a little talk with him.

"I feel, Hunter, as if I'd been a little to blame for this thing," he said as he picked up his lines to start for home. "I thought you'd be able to see that noise and worry were bad for her. I ought to have impressed the gravity of her condition on you and warned you that she must not be worried by that baby. You can see every muscle in her set hard when the bed is jarred. That child's got to be kept out of there. Those things hurt a woman in that condition like a knife."

"She's been awfully cross and cried about everything this week, but she hasn't complained much--that is, of anything but a little backache," John replied, fingering the whipstock of the doctor's buggy and not able to connect the present serious illness with any real reason.

"Little backache!" Doctor Morgan exclaimed with exasperation. "I never seem to be able to get you men to understand that noise hurts a woman sometimes worse than if you'd hit her with a ball-bat. Hurts, mind! It ain't imagination; it hurts, and will send a fever up in no time. Have I made it clear to you?" he asked doubtfully.

"I guess you have," John said, relinquishing the whipstock. "She's been awfully fretful, but I never thought of her being sick enough for this."

"Well," the old doctor said emphatically. "You've lost the child, and You'll lose your wife if you don't look out. You get a girl in that kitchen, and see to it that she tends things without Mrs. Hunter having to look after her. She won't do another day's work for a good long time--and mind, I say, You'll lose her yet if you don't keep that child off her till she has a chance to get well."

As Doctor Morgan drove away he said meditatively:

"Think I got him that time. Blamed fool!"

CHAPTER XIX

"HER WAGES, FOOD AND CLOTHING SHE MUST ACCEPT"

Luther Hansen was at the door when John returned, and they entered the sitting room together. Jack was leaning against the bedroom door, and John, who remembered Doctor Morgan's parting advice, went to close it. The baby ran to his mother, escaping the outstretched hands of the father, who was after him, but the child had miscalculated the opposition this time and was taken firmly into John's arms and lifted free from the bed.

"Tell Luther to come to me," Elizabeth whispered.

"Doctor Morgan said----" John began.

"Tell Luther to come to me," Elizabeth repeated, putting every particle of strength she had into her voice so that by having Luther hear her John would be obliged to comply.

Luther came without having to be told.