little black eyes, and little black ringlets
all over his head; he was the living image of his father, everybody
said--and Jurgis found this a fascinating circumstance. It was
sufficiently perplexing that this tiny mite of life should have come
into the world at all in the manner that it had; that it should have
come with a comical imitation of its father's nose was simply uncanny.

Perhaps, Jurgis thought, this was intended to signify that it was his
baby; that it was his and Ona's, to care for all its life. Jurgis had
never possessed anything nearly so interesting--a baby was, when you
came to think about it, assuredly a marvelous possession. It would grow
up to be a man, a human soul, with a personality all its own, a will of
its own! Such thoughts would keep haunting Jurgis, filling him with
all sorts of strange and almost painful excitements. He was wonderfully
proud of little Antanas; he was curious about all the details of
him--the washing and the dressing and the eating and the sleeping of
him, and asked all sorts of absurd questions. It took him quite a
while to get over his alarm at the incredible shortness of the little
creature's legs.

Jurgis had, alas, very little time to see his baby; he never felt the
chains about him more than just then. When he came home at night, the
baby would be asleep, and it would be the merest chance if he awoke
before Jurgis had to go to sleep himself. Then in the morning there was
no time to look at him, so really the only chance the father had was on
Sundays. This was more cruel yet for Ona, who ought to have stayed
home and nursed him, the doctor said, for her own health as well as the
baby's; but Ona had to go to work, and leave him for Teta Elzbieta
to feed upon the pale blue poison that was called milk at the corner
grocery. Ona's confinement lost her only a week's wages--she would go to
the factory the second Monday, and the best that Jurgis could persuade
her was to ride in the car, and let him run along behind and help her to
Brown's when she alighted. After that it would be all right, said Ona,
it was no strain sitting still sewing hams all day; and if she waited
longer she might find that her dreadful forelady had put some one
else in her place. That would be a greater calamity than ever now, Ona
continued, on account of the baby. They would all have to work harder
now on his account. It was such a responsibility--they must not have the
baby grow up to suffer as they