She knew what her child was born
to suffer; but affection thrust far away the evil day, that she
might not lose the happiness of the present. The babe was hers,--
her own,--and for long years yet would be her joy and comfort.
Annie had other children, but they were wild, romping boys, grown out
of their babyhood, and so very naturally left to run and take care
of themselves. She had not ceased to love them, however, and would
have manifested it more, but for the idol, the little girl baby,
which had now for nearly a year nestled in her arms, and completely
possessed her heart. When they were hungry, they came like
chickens about her cabin-door, and being mistress of the kitchen,
she always had plenty of good, substantial crumbs for them;
and when they were sick, she nursed them with pitying care;
but this was about all the attention they received.
The baby engrossed every leisure moment she could command.
Many times a day she would pause in her work to caress it. She would
seat it upon the floor, amid a perfect bed of honeysuckle blossoms,
and bring the bright orange gourds that grew around the door
for its amusement. Sometimes a broken toy or a shining trinket,
which she had picked up in the house, or a smooth pebble from the yard,
would be added to the treasures of the little one.
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