There was not the least resentment cherished by the corpulent Mrs.
Smith. The girl's answer confirmed her opinion from the first. "She
would not send for her husband, because there wasn't no husband to send
for." She mentioned her convictions to her husband and added she meant
to write to sister Eliza that very night.

"Sister Eliza has an uncommon light hand with babies and that pore
young thing'll be hard pushed to pay the doctor, let alone a nurse."

These essentially feminine details regarding the talents of Sister
Eliza, did not especially interest Smith, who continued his favorite
occupation--or rather, joint occupations, of whittling and
expectorating. Nevertheless, the letter to Sister Eliza was written,
and not a minute sooner than was necessary; for, the little soul that
was to bring with it forgetfulness for all the agony through which its
mother had lived during that awful year, came very soon after the
arrival of Sister Eliza.

Anna had felt in those days of waiting that she could never again be
happy; that for her "finis" had been written by the fates. But, as she
lay with the dark-haired baby on her breast, she found herself planning
for the little girl's future; even happy in the building of those
heavenly air-castles that young mothers never weary of building. She
felt the necessity of growing strong so that she could work early and
late, for baby must have everything, even if mother went without.
Sometimes a fleeting likeness to Sanderson would flit across the
child's face, and a spasm of pain would clutch at Anna's heart, but she
would forget it next moment in one of baby's most heavenly smiles.