Mrs. Thompson saw him
approaching from the window, and with ruffling feathers met him a
few paces from the door, as he opened the garden gate, and came in.
He bore a precious burden, and he felt it to be so. As his arms held
the sick child to his breast, a sphere of tenderness went out from
her, and penetrated his feelings. A bond had already corded itself
around them both, and love was springing into life.
"What have you there?" sharply questioned Mrs. Thompson.
Joe, felt the child start and shrink against him. He did not reply,
except by a look that was pleading and cautionary, that said, "Wait
a moment for explanations, and be gentle;" and, passing in, carried
Maggie to the small chamber on the first floor, and laid her on a
bed. Then, stepping back, he shut the door, and stood face to face
with his vinegar-tempered wife in the passage-way outside.
"You haven't brought home that sick brat!" Anger and astonishment
were in the tones of Mrs. Joe Thompson; her face was in a flame.
"I think women's hearts are sometimes very hard," said Joe. Usually
Joe Thompson got out of his wife's way, or kept rigidly silent and
non-combative when she fired up on any subject; it was with some
surprise, therefore, that she now encountered a firmly-set
countenance and a resolute pair of eyes.
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