mother was no more a real mother than our good cousin--I knew that much
from the fairy tales to which I was ever ready to hearken. But I saw
this very stepmother wash and dress little Elsie, her husband's youngest
babe and not her own, and lull her till she fell asleep; and she did it
right tenderly, and quite as she ought. And then, when the child was
asleep she kissed it, too, on its brow and cheeks.

And yet Mistress Stromer, of the Golden-Rose House, did differently; for
when she took little Clare that was her own babe out of the water, and
laid it on warm clouts on the swaddling board, she buried her face in the
sweet, soft flesh, and kissed the whole of its little body all over,
before and behind, from head to foot, as if it were all one sweet, rosy
mouth; and they both laughed with hearty, loving merriment, as the mother
pressed her lips against the babe's white, clean skin and trumpeted till
the room rang, or clasped it, wrapped in napkins to her warm breast, as
if she could hug it to death. And she broke into a loud, strange laugh,
and cried as she fondled it: "My treasure, my darling, my God-sent jewel!
My own, my own--I could eat thee!"

No, Mistress Muffel never behaved so to Elsie, her husband's babe.
Notwithstanding I knew right well that Cousin Maud had been just as fond
of me as Dame Stromer of her own babes, and so far our cousin was no way
different from a real mother. And I said as much to myself, when I laid
me down to sleep in my little white bed at night, and my cousin came and
folded her hands as I folded mine and, after we had said the prayers for
the Angelus together, as we did every evening, she laid her head by the
side of mine, and pressed my baby face to her own big face. I liked this
well enough, and I whispered in her ear: "Tell me, Cousin Maud, are you
not my real, true mother?"