directions; which, as you must see pretty clearly by this time, Norah
won't; because they give the poor little wench pain. Now, I'm not
above being nesh for other folks myself. I can stand a good blow,
and never change colour; but, set me in the operating room in the
infirmary, and I turn as sick as a girl. Yet, if need were, I would
hold the little wench on my knees while she screeched with pain, if it
were to do her poor back good. Nay, nay, wench! keep your white looks
for the time when it comes--I don't say it ever will. But this I know,
Norah will spare the child and cheat the doctor, if she can. Now, I
say, give the bairn a year or two's chance, and then, when the pack of
doctors have done their best--and, maybe, the old lady has gone--we'll
have Norah back or do better for her.'

The pack of doctors could do no good to little Ailsie. She was beyond
their power. But her father (for so he insisted on being called, and
also on Alice's no longer retaining the appellation of Mamma, but
becoming henceforward Mother), by his healthy cheerfulness of manner,
his clear decision of purpose, his odd turns and quirks of humour,
added to his real strong love for the helpless little girl, infused
a new element of brightness and confidence into her life; and, though
her back remained the same, her general health was strengthened, and
Alice--never going beyond a smile herself--had the pleasure of seeing
her child taught to laugh.

As for Alice's own life, it was happier than it had ever been before.
Mr Openshaw required no demonstration, no expressions of affection
from her. Indeed, these would rather have disgusted him. Alice could
love deeply, but could not talk about it. The perpetual requirement
of loving words, looks, and caresses, and misconstruing their absence
into absence of love, had been the great trial of her former married