Веснянки

           Peoplethatcanaffordanythingatall,alwaysbuywhiteforlittlenewbabies—linenandlace,andtheveryfinestthingstobehad.There’sayoungwomanlivingnearuswhocutupherweddingclothestohavefinethingsforherbaby.Motherswholoveandwanttheirbabiesdon’tbuylittlerough,ready-madethings,andtheydon’trunupwhattheymakeonanoldsewingmachine.Theymakefineseams,andtucks,andputonlaceandtrimmingbyhand.Theysitandstitch,andstitch—little,evenstitches,everyonejustascareful.Theireyesshineandtheirfacesglow.Whentheyhavetoquittodosomethingelse,theylooksorry,andfolduptheirworksoparticularly.Thereisn’tmuchworthknowingaboutyourmotherthatthoselittleclotheswon’ttell.Icanseeherputtingthelittlestitchesintothemandsmilingwithshiningeyesoveryourcoming.Freckles,I’llwageryouadollarthoselittleclothesofyoursarejustalivewiththedearest,tinyhandmadestitches.”

           AnewlightdawnedinFreckles’eyes.Atingeofwarmcolorsweptintohisface.Renewedstrengthwasnoticeableinhisgripofherhands.

           “OhAngel!Willyougonow?Willyoubehurrying?”hecried.

           “Rightaway,”saidtheAngel.“Iwon’tstopforathing,andI’llhurrywithallmymight.”

           Shesmoothedhispillow,straightenedthecover,gavehimonesteadylookintheeyes,andwentquietlyfromtheroom.

           Outsidethedoor,McLeanandthesurgeonanxiouslyawaitedher.McLeancaughthershoulders.

           “Angel,whathaveyoudone?”hedemanded.

           TheAngelsmileddefianceintohiseyes.