You had better let me have the child; you won't do
better than 'ere."
Esther promised to think it over and let her know to-morrow. It took her
many omnibuses to get home, and it was quite dark when she pushed the door
to. The first thing that caught her ear was her child crying. "What is the
matter?" she cried, hurrying down the passage.
"Oh, is that you? You have been away a time. The poor child is that hungry
he has been crying this hour or more. If I'd 'ad a bottle I'd 'ave given
him a little milk."
"Hungry, is he? Then he shall have plenty soon. It is nearly the last time
I shall nurse the poor darling." Then she told Mrs. Jones about Mrs.
Spires, and both women tried to arrive at a decision.
"Since you have to put the child out to nurse, you might as well put him
there as elsewhere; the woman will look after him as well as she
can--she'll do that, if it is for the sake of the six shillings a week."
"Yes, yes, I know; but I've always heard that children die that are put
out to nurse. If mine died I never should forgive myself."
She could not sleep; she lay with her arms about her baby, distracted at
the thought of parting from him. What had she done that her baby should be
separated from her? What had the poor little darling done? He at least was
innocent; why should he be deprived of his mother? At midnight she got up
and lighted a candle, looked at him, took him in her arms, squeezed him to
her bosom till he cried, and the thought came that it would be sweeter to
kill him with her own hands than to be parted from him.
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