Hoodie. Molesworth Mrs.
to refuse, though somewhat misdoubting but that poor baby would have been better in its cradle. But baby did not seem to think so; she gave one or two funny little yawns, half opened her eyes, and then composed herself to sleep again most philosophically in Hoodie's embrace. She was a nice baby and daintily cared for, even though her home was only a stone-floored cottage. She was number one in the first place, which says a good deal, and she was an extremely healthy and satisfactory baby in herself – and altogether as sweet and fresh and loveable as a wee baby buttercup under a hedge.
The young mother eyed the little couple with great admiration.
"How cleverly she holds it, to be sure!" she said to herself; adding to Hoodie, "You must have a baby at home, Miss, surely?" the remark as she made it reminding her of her anxiety to find out where the "home" of her mysterious little visitor was. "I cannot but give her her tea," she said to herself; "but I hope I sha'n't get into blame for keeping her here, if she's run away from her nurse unbeknown-like."
"No," said Hoodie, with a melancholy tone in her voice. "There isn't no baby at home. Only Hec and Duke, and they're too big to be pettened, and they like Maudie better than me."
"Do they really, Missy!" said the young woman. "Well, I'm sure I think you're a very nice young lady, and baby thinks so too, it's plain to see. See, she's waking, the darling."
Hoodie stared solemnly at the baby as if some extraordinary marvel were about to happen. What did happen was this. Baby stretched itself, doubled up its little pink fists, as if to box some one, yawned, half opened its eyes, and then closed them again, having apparently considered the question of waking up and thought better of it – rolled over again, and again yawned, and finally opening its nice, baby blue eyes and gazing up inquiringly into Hoodie's face, slowly and deliberately smiled at her – a sweet baby smile, half-patronizing, half-mysterious, as if it had been away in some wonderful baby fairy-land which it would have liked to tell her about if it could, and rather pitied her for not having seen for herself. Hoodie gazed, enraptured. A pretty bright smile, a smile, it must be confessed, not too often seen there, broke over her own little face, and at the sight baby's satisfaction expressed itself in a regular chuckle. Hoodie turned to the young woman with a curious triumph.
"Little baby's mother," she said, half awe-struck as it were, "I do believe she loves me."
"Of course she does, and why shouldn't she?" replied the young mother heartily, yet feeling conscious of not altogether understanding the little girl. "Why shouldn't she love you, Missy? Little tiny babies like her always does love those as is kind to them. Don't you love your dear mamma, Missy? and your sisters if you have any – and what made you love them first, before you could understand like, if it wasn't that they loved you and were kind to you?"
Hoodie shook her head – her usual refuge in perplexity.
"I don't know," she said. "I like peoples to love me lots – gate lots. I don't 'zink anybody loves me lots. If I was always to sit here holding baby so nice, do you think she'd love me lots?"
Baby's mother laughed outright.
"I don't know that, Missy," she said, "she'd get very hungry and cry. And you'd be hungry, too. Aren't you hungry now? The tea's all ready, see, Missy, and your bread and butter's laid out. But I'm afraid it's rather hard. Won't you have some of mine instead – its nice and fresh. Has yours been packed up a long time?"
Hoodie's attention being drawn to the bread and butter, she allowed baby's mother to regain possession of her treasure, and clambered up herself to the chair placed for her. When safely installed she eyed the provisions suspiciously.
"I 'zink yours is nicer, little baby's mother," she said graciously, having first bitten a piece of her own rather uninviting bread. "It was only packened up last night – but perhaps it was the taking it to bed. I took it to bed acos I didn't want nobody to see. But the bicsits is nice. Mayn't baby have a bicsit, little baby's mother? If I had got to the grandmother's cottage there'd have been cake. You hasn't none cake, has you?"
"No, Missy. You see I didn't know you were coming. If your mamma would let you come another day and I knew in time, I could bake a nice cake."
"Yes," said Hoodie, "and baby might have some. Does baby like cake?"
"She hasn't no teeth to bite it with yet, Missy dear," said the young woman.
"No teess!" exclaimed Hoodie, "what a funny baby. Did God forget zem?" she added, in a lower voice.
The young woman turned away to hide her laughter; and just at this moment there came a rap at the door – a well-known rap evidently, for up jumped the young woman with a pleased face.
"David!" she exclaimed, as she opened the door, "I thought you wouldn't be back till late, or I'd have waited tea."
"I came in to say as I've got to go out again," said the man – a good-humoured looking young labourer – "little baby" had every reason to be good-humoured with such pleasant tempered father and mother! – "I've to drive over to Greenoaks to fetch some little pigs, so I mayn't be in till late. But bless us!" he exclaimed, as he just then caught sight of Hoodie seated in perfect satisfaction and evidently quite at home, at the tea-table, "who ever's this you've got with you, Liz?"
His surprise was so comical that it set "Liz" off laughing again.
"Bless me if I can tell you, David," she said. "She's the most old-fashioned little piece of goods I ever came across. But such a nice little lady too, and that taken with our baby! She won't tell me her name nor nothing," and then she went on to describe to David, Hoodie's arrival and all she had said.
David scratched his head, as, half hidden in the doorway, where Hoodie had not yet caught sight of him, he glanced at the child, still deeply interested in her "tea."
"It's my opinion," he said solemnly, as if what he was about to say was something that could not possibly have struck any one else; "it's my opinion as her nurse or some one has been cross to her and she's runned away."
"But what shall we do?" said Mrs. Liz, a little anxiously. "How shall we find out where she belongs to?"
"Oh, easy enough," said David. "She's but a baby. And even if she wouldn't tell, you may be sure they'll soon be sending after her. I could take her home on my way to Greenoaks if I knew where it was. Can't be far off – maybe it's one of the clergyman's children down by Springley."
"They've none so little," said Mrs. David. "But there's Squire Caryll's – I heard say there's a sight o' little ones there. 'Twill be there."
"Likely enough," said David. "But I'd like a cup o' tea, Liz, if the young lady'll excuse my being rather rough like."
Lizzie laughed.
"She's but a baby," she said; and so David came forward and sat down at the table.
Hoodie looked up from her tea and stopped half way through a "bicsit" to take a good stare at the new comer.
"Who is zou, please?" she said at last.
David looked rather awkward. It was somewhat embarrassing to be calmly challenged in this way at his own table, poor man, by a mite of a creature like this! He relieved his feelings by a glance at his wife and a faint whistle.
"Well, to be sure!" he exclaimed.
Lizzie understood the small questioner better.
"Why, Missy," she said, "'Tis David. He's baby's father, and this is his house, and he's very pleased to see you here."
Hoodie looked again at David; this time he seemed to find more favour in her eyes.
"At the grandmother's cottage there wouldn't have been no Davids," she remarked. "His hands is rather dirty, isn't they, little baby's mother?"
This was too much for David – he went off into a roar. Hoodie looked up doubtfully – was he laughing at her? – in her opinion, an unpardonable crime – but David's funny, good-natured face gained the day, and after a moment's hesitation Hoodie joined in the fun and laughed too, though at what she certainly didn't know.
Friendly feeling thus established, David thought it time to begin his inquiries.
"Hope you've