It is 'ard, very 'ard, poor little
dears, but they is best out of the way--they is only an expense and a
disgrace."
Mrs. Spires talked on in a rapid, soothing, soporific voice. She had just
finished pouring some milk in the baby's bottle and had taken down a jug
of water from the dresser.
"But that's cold water," said Esther, waking from the stupor of her
despair; "it will give the baby gripes for certain."
"I've no 'ot water ready; I'll let the bottle stand afore the fire,
that'll do as well." Watching Esther all the while, Mrs. Spires held the
bottle a few moments before the fire, and then gave it to the child to
suck. Very soon after a cry of pain came from the cradle.
"The little dear never was well; it wouldn't surprise me a bit if it
died--went off before morning. It do look that poorly. One can't 'elp
being sorry for them, though one knows there is no 'ouse for them 'ere.
Poor little angels, and not even baptised. There's them that thinks a lot
of getting that over. But who's to baptise the little angels?"
"Baptise them?" Esther repeated. "Oh, sprinkle them, you mean. That's not
the way with the Lord's people;" and to escape from a too overpowering
reality she continued to repeat the half-forgotten patter of the Brethren,
"You must wait until it is a symbol of living faith in the Lord!" And
taking the baby in her hands for a moment, the wonder crossed her mind
whether he would ever grow up and find salvation and testify to the Lord
as an adult in voluntary baptism.
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