boy, wasn't it?

No, Shovel's old woman had been up helping to hold it, and she said it
were a girl.

Shutting his mouth tightly; which was never natural to him, the startled
Tommy mounted the stair, listened and was convinced. He did not enter
his dishonored home. He had no intention of ever entering it again. With
one salt tear he renounced--a child, a mother.

On his way downstairs he was received by Shovel and party, who planted
their arrows neatly. Kids cried steadily, he was told, for the first
year. A boy one was bad enough, but a girl one was oh lawks. He must
never again expect to get playing with blokes like what they was.
Already she had got round his old gal who would care for him no more.
What would they say about this in Thrums?

Shovel even insisted on returning him his cap, and for some queer
reason, this cut deepest. Tommy about to charge, with his head down, now
walked away so quietly that Shovel, who could not help liking the funny
little cuss, felt a twinge of remorse, and nearly followed him with a
magnanimous offer: to treat him as if he were still respectable.

Tommy lay down on a distant stair, one of the very stairs where _she_
had sat with him. Ladies, don't you dare to pity him now, for he won't
stand it. Rage was what he felt, and a man in a rage (as you may know if
you are married) is only to be soothed by the sight of all womankind in
terror of him. But you may look upon your handiwork, and gloat, an you
will, on the wreck you have made. A young gentleman trusted one of you;
behold the result. O! O! O! O! now do you understand why we men cannot