"They say, 'God sends the little babies.' Of all the dastardly revolting
lies men tell to suit themselves, I hate that most. I suppose my father
said so when he knew he was dying of consumption, and my mother when she
knew she had nothing to support me on, and they created me to feed like a
dog from stranger hands. Men do not say God sends the books, or the
newspaper articles, or the machines they make; and then sigh, and shrug
their shoulders and say they can't help it. Why do they say so about other
things? Liars! 'God sends the little babies!'" She struck her foot
fretfully against the splashboard. "The small children say so earnestly.
They touch the little stranger reverently who has just come from God's far
country, and they peep about the room to see if not one white feather has
dropped from the wing of the angel that brought him. On their lips the
phrase means much; on all others it is a deliberate lie. Noticeable, too,"
she said, dropping in an instant from the passionate into a low, mocking
tone, "when people are married, though they should have sixty children,
they throw the whole onus on God. When they are not, we hear nothing about
God's having sent them. When there has been no legal contract between the
parents, who sends the little children then? The devil perhaps!" She
laughed her little silvery, mocking laugh. "Odd that some men should come
from hell and some from heaven, and yet all look so much alike when they
get here."

Waldo wondered at her. He had not the key to her thoughts, and did not see
the string on which they were strung. She drew her cloud tighter about
her.

"It must be very nice to believe in the devil," she said; "I wish I did.
If it would be of any use I would pray three hours night and morning on my
bare knees, 'God, let me believe in Satan.' He is so useful to those
people who do. They may be as selfish and as sensual as they please, and,