I don't
dare run off for a day. You've married a working-man, and he's obliged
to stick to his place."

She said nothing more to persuade me, but from that evening until the
spring, when our son was born, it seemed to me that she retreated
farther and farther into that pale dream distance where I had first seen
and desired her. With the coming of the child I got her back to earth
and to reality, and when the warm little body, wrapped in flannels, was
first placed in my arms, it seemed to me that the thrill of the mere
physical contact had in it something of the peculiar starlike radiance
of my bridal night. Sally, lying upon the pillow under a blue satin
coverlet, smiled up at me with flushed cheeks and eyes shining with
love, and while I stood there, some divine significance in her look, in
her helplessness, in the oneness of the three of us drawn together in
that little circle of life, moved my heart to the faint quiver of
apprehension that had come to me while I stood by her side before the
altar in old Saint John's.

When she was well, and the long, still days of the summer opened, little
Benjamin was wrapped in a blue veil and taken in Aunt Euphronasia's arms
to visit Miss Mitty in the old grey house.

"What did she say, mammy? How did she receive him?" asked Sally eagerly,
when the old negress returned.

"She ain' said nuttin' 'tall, honey, cep'n 'huh,'" replied Aunt
Euphronasia, in an aggrieved and resentful tone. "Dar she wuz a-settin'
jes' ez prim by de side er dat ar box er sweet alyssum, en ez soon ez I
lay eyes on her, I said, 'Howdy, Miss Mitty, hyer's Marse Ben's en Miss
Sally's baby done come to see you.' Den she kinder turnt her haid, like
oner dese yer ole wedder cocks on a roof, en she looked me spang in de
eye en said 'huh' out right flat jes' like dat."

"But didn't you show her his pretty blue eyes, mammy?" persisted Sally.

"Go way f'om hyer, chile, Miss Mitty done seen de eyes er a baby befo'
now. I knowed dat, en I lowed in my mind dat you ain' gwinter git aroun'
her by pretendin' you kin show her nuttin'. So I jes' begin ter sidle up
ter her en kinder talk sof ez ef'n I 'uz a-talkin' ter myself. 'Dish yer
chile is jes' de spi't er Marse Bland,' I sez, 'en dar ain' noner de po'
wite trash in de look er him needer.'"

"Aunt Euphronasia, how dare you!" said Sally, sternly.

"Well, 'tis de trufe, ain't hit? Dar ain' nuttin er de po' wite trash in
de look er him, is dar?"

"And what did sh