"May I kiss her, nurse?"
"Yes--gently--quite gently."
He kissed her, half afraid, he did not know of what. Her cheek was
softer and smoother than anything he had ever touched before. He sped
back to his mother, too full of delight to speak. But she was not
yet well enough to talk to him, and his father coming in, led him
down-stairs again, where he began once more to watch the snow, wondering
now if it had anything to do with baby's arrival.
In the afternoon, it was found that the lock of his mother's room not
only would not catch easily, but made a noise that disturbed her. So his
father got a screwdriver and removed it, making as little noise as he
could. Next he contrived a way, with a piece of string, for keeping the
door shut, and as that would not hold it close enough, hung a shawl over
it to keep the draught out--all which proceeding Willie watched. As soon
as he had finished, and the nurse had closed the door behind them, Mr
Macmichael set out to take the lock to the smithy, and allowed Willie to
go with him. By the time they reached it, the snow was an inch deep on
their shoulders, on Willie's cap, and on his father's hat. How red the
glow of the smith's fire looked! It was a great black cavern with a red
heart to it in the midst of whiteness.
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