III
BROWN'S BORROWED BABY
On the following Saturday, at five in the afternoon, the previous hourshaving been filled with a long list of errands of all sorts, yet allhaving to do with people, and the people's affairs, seldom his own, Brownturned his steps home-ward. The steps lagged a little, for he was tired.
At the house next his own--a shabby little house, yet with rows ofblooming scarlet geraniums in tin cans on its two lower window sills, andclean, if patched, muslin curtains behind the plants--Brown turned inonce more. Standing in the kitchen doorway he put a question:
"Mrs. Kelcey, may I borrow Norah for an hour?"
The person addressed looked up from her work, grinned a broad Irishgrin, pushed back a lock of bothersome hair with a soapy hand, andanswered heartily:
"To be shure ye may, Misther Brown. I says to mesilf an hour ago, I says,'Happen he'll come for Nory to-night, it bein' Saturday night, an' himbein' apt to come of a Saturday night.' So I give her her bath early, toget her out o' the way before the bhoys come home. So it's clane she is,if she ain't got into no mischief the half hour."
She dashed into the next room and returned triumphant, her youngestdaughter on her arm. Five minutes later Brown bore little Norah Kelceyinto his bachelor domain, wrapped in her mother's old plaid shawl, herblue eyes looking expectantly from its folds. It was not the first timeshe had paid a visit to the place--she remembered what there was in storefor her there. She was just two years old, was Norah, a mere slip of anIrish baby, with a tangled mop of dark curls above eyes of deep blue setin bewildering lashes, and with a mouth like a freshly budded rose.
Brown withdrew the shawl and knelt on the floor before her. Bim, who hadwelcomed the two with eagerness, sat down beside them.
"You see, Bim," explained his master, "I had to have something human tolove for an hour or two. You're pretty nearly human, I know, but notquite. Norah is human--she's flesh-and-blood. A fellow gets starved forthe touch of flesh-and-blood sometimes, Bim."
He bent over the child. Then he lifted her again and bore her into hisbedroom. Clean and wholesome she was without question, but he dislikedthe faint odour of laundry soap which hung about her. Smiling at her,playing with her, making a game of it, he gently bathed the little faceand neck, the plump arms and hands, using a clear toilet soap with a mostdelicate suggestion of fragrance. When he brought her back to hisfireside she was a small honey-pot for sweetness and daintiness, and fitfor the caresses she was sure to get.
Brown sat down with her upon his knee. He had given her a tiny doll tosnuggle in her arms, and she was quiet as a kitten.
"Norah," said he, speaking softly, "you are adorable. Your eyes are thecolour of deep-sea water and they make havoc with my heart. That heart,by the way, is soft as melting snow to-night, Norah. It's longing for allthe old things, longing so hard it aches like a bruise. It's done itsbest to be stoical about this exile, but there are times when stoicism isa failure. This is one of those times. Norah baby, would you mind verymuch if I kiss the back of your little neck?"
Norah did not mind in the least.
"All right, little human creature," said Brown, placing her upon thehearth-rug to play with Bim's silky brown ears, "you've given me as muchcomfort as one of us is likely to give another, in a world whereeverybody starves for something he can't have, and only God knows whatthe fight for self-denial costs. Shall we have supper now, Norah and Bim?Milk for Norah, bones for Bim, meat for Donald Brown--and a prayer forpluck and patience for us all!"