“’S long ’s I’ve begun I may ’s well make a clean breast of the whole now.  O’ course you don’t know nothin’, Mrs. Lathrop, but, to put the whole thing in a shell, this adoptin’ of a child ’s a good deal to consider.  When a woman ’s married, it’s the Lord’s will ‘n’ out o’ the Bible ‘n’ to be took without no murmurin’ ’s to your own feelin’s in the matter.  Every one ’s sorry for married people, no matter how their children turn out, because, good or bad, like enough they done their best, ‘n’ if they didn’t it was always the other one’s fault; but there ain’t no one goin’ to lay themselves out to try ‘n’ smooth my child’s thorns into a bed o’ roses for me.  Every one ‘s jus’ goin’ to up ‘n’ blame me right ‘n’ left, ‘n’ if it has a pug-nose or turns out bad I can’t shoulder none of it onto the Lord, I’ll jus’ have the whole c’mmunity sayin’ I’ve got myself ‘n’ no one else to thank.  Now, when you know f’r sure ‘t you can’t blame nobody else but jus’ yourself, you go pretty slow, ‘n’ for that very reason I’m thinkin’ this subjeck well over afore I decide.  There’s a good many questions to consider,—­my mind ’s got to be made up whether boy or girl ‘n’ age ‘n’ so forth afore I shall open my lips to a livin’ soul.”

Mrs. Lathrop appeared to be slowly recovering from the effects of her surprise.

“Would you take a small—­” she asked, perhaps with some mental reference to the remark that dowered her with the occasional charge of the future adopted Clegg.

“Well, I d’n’ know.  That’s a very hard thing that comes up first of all every time ‘t I begin thinkin’.  When most folks set out to adopt a baby, the main idea seems to be to try ‘n’ get ’em so young ’t they can’t never say for sure’s you ain’t their mother.”

Mrs. Lathrop nodded approval, mute but emphatic, of the wisdom of her friend’s views.

“But I ain’t got none o’ that foolish sort o’ notions in me.  I wouldn’t be its mother, ‘n’ ’f there was n’t no one else to tell it so Mr. Kimball ’d rejoice to the first time I sent it down town alone.  It’s nigh to impossible to keep nothin’ in the town with Mr. Kimball.  A man f’rever talkin’ like that ‘s bound to tell everythin’ sooner or later, ‘n’ I never was one to set any great store o’ faith on a talker.  When I don’t want the whole town to know ‘t I’m layin’ in rat-poison I buy of Shores, ‘n’ when I get a new dress I buy o’ Kimball.  I don’t want my rats talked about ‘n’ I don’t mind my dress.  For which same reason I sh’ll make no try ‘t foolin’ my baby.  I’ll be content if it cooes.  I remember Mrs. Macy’s sayin’ once ’t a baby was sweetest when it cooes, ‘n’ I don’t want to miss nothin’, ‘n’ we ain’t never kep’ doves for me to be dead-sick o’ the noise, so I want the cooin’ age.  I think it’ll be pleasant comin’ home days to hear the baby cooin’, ‘n’ ’f it cooes too loud when I’m away you c’n always come over ‘n’ see if it’s rolled anywhere.  I c’n see that, generally speaking, it’s a wise thing that folks