Materfamilias

"Certainly," I said, with rigid face and shaking heart. "And it is right that I should be there to see that she is undisturbed. I ought to have been there hours ago, Edmund, and I can't think why you did not send for me – her own mother – the very first person who should have been informed."

He began to make all sorts of lame excuses.

"You see, Mater dear, the telegraph offices are not open on Sundays."

"Was it Sunday? So long ago as yesterday? And where were the buggy and the bicycle – not to speak of the trains?"

"The buggy and the bicycle were there, but I had to send the groom hunting for Errington, and of course I could not leave her myself. There was not a soul to take a message to you, Mater dear. Besides, there was no earthly use in giving you an upset for nothing. We soon saw that everything was going on beautifully – otherwise, of course, you would have been fetched at once – and so we thought you might as well be spared all the worry – you would have worried frightfully, you know – and that we would give you a pleasant surprise when it was all over. And now you don't seem half grateful to us for being so thoughtful about you."

He laughed at this poor joke. I could not laugh. My heart was too full.

"Poor, poor, poor girl!" I passionately exclaimed. "To face that trial for the first time – terrified to death, naturally – "

"Oh dear, no," he interposed, in his flippant way. "I am proud to inform you that Phyllis conducted herself like a perfect lady. She was as calm as possible."

"How can you tell how calm she was?" I thundered at him. "You know nothing about it, though you are a doctor. I know – I know what she had to go through! And no one near her to help her with a word of comfort, except a hired person – one of your precious hospital nurses that are mere iron-nerved machines – women who might as well be men for all the feelings they've got!"

"But she had – she had," cried Edmund, hastily. "She had my mother near her – one of the kindest old souls that ever breathed."

"What?"

I stared at him, petrified with astonishment and indignation. His mother assisting at the confinement of my daughter! And I shut out! I could not believe it for the moment – that they would deliberately put such an insult upon me.

Edmund said it was not done deliberately, but was a pure accident. "It just happened," he said, "that she chanced to be in the house yesterday. She came in after morning church, as she often does, and seeing that something was up – "

"What – as early as yesterday morning!" I burst out, thoroughly and justifiably angry now, and not caring to hide it. "You mean to say Phyllis was taken ill in the morning, Edmund, and you did not let me know? Oh, this is too much!"

Of course he hastened to excuse himself – with what I feel sure, though I am sorry to say it, was a barefaced lie. He declared she was not taken ill in the morning – not until quite late in the day – but that she was a little restless and nervous, and his mother had stayed to cheer her.

"Mother is such a bright, calm-minded, capable old body," he said – as if I were a dull, hysterical fool – "and she has had such swarms upon swarms of children, and such oceans of sick-nursing, and Phyllis is so fond of her, and as you were not get-at-able, Mater dear – "

Oh, it was sickening! I hadn't patience to listen to him, with his "Mater dears" and his hypocritical pretences. I saw clearly that it had been what Harry would call a put-up thing; he had preferred old Mrs. Juke – a woman of no education, with a figure like a sack of flour tied round the middle – to me. I suppose his friends had been twitting him about the tyrannical mother-in-law, in the vulgar conventional way; or he had been afraid that I would dispute his authority and orders in the sick-room; or perhaps, to do him justice – he had thought nothing of an affair which was in his daily experience, although it was his own wife concerned. In any case, I was sure that Phyllis had not been to blame. However fond she might be of Mrs. Juke – and probably she feigned affection to some extent, for her husband's sake – it was her own mother she would long for at such a time. And her mother she should have, or I'd know the reason why.

"It is not my fault that I was un-get-at-able yesterday," I said to Edmund, quietly but firmly. "At any rate I am get-at-able now. I see you are in a fidget to be after your patients – go, my dear, and tell her I will be with her in an hour or two. Oh, I daresay there is no hurry – from your point of view; I am of a different opinion. I am a woman —and a mother; I understand these things. You don't – and never could – not if you were fifty times a doctor."

"All right," he returned cheerfully, or with assumed cheerfulness. "I am sure she will be delighted to see you. Only we shall have to keep her very quiet for the next few days – not let her talk and argue and excite herself, you know – "

I laughed – I could not help it – and waved him off. I told him to get himself some beer, or whatever he fancied, and not to suppose that he could teach me mother's duties at my time of life. And in a few minutes he went flying back to town, and I sought my dear husband, where he was busy digging in the vegetable garden, and flung myself weeping into his grubby arms.

Tom, too, was quite overcome. Not nearly so surprised as I expected him to be, but tremulous in his agitation, and almost speechless at first. For a tough old sailor as he is, he has the softest heart I know.

"My little girl!" he murmured huskily, and cleared his throat again and again. "And it was only the other day that she was a baby herself. Makes us feel very ancient, don't it?"

"No," I returned emphatically. "I don't feel ancient in the very least. And you, my dear, are in your prime. It is simply an absurdity that we should be grandparents."

"Well, it does seem rather ridiculous in your case," he rejoined – my sweet old fellow! – "with your brown hair and bright eyes and figure straight as a dart. But I – "

"But you," I insisted, "are just as handsome as ever you were – worth a dozen priggish little whipper-snappers like Edmund Juke."

"Oh! What has Edmund Juke been doing?"

"He let her be ill yesterday —all yesterday – and never sent for me to be with her!" I sobbed, feeling sure of sympathy here, if nowhere else. "Did you ever know of a mother being treated so before?"

But Tom – even Tom – was unsympathetic and disappointing. He did not exclaim and protest on my behalf – did not seem to see how unnatural it was, and what a slight had been put upon me – but just patted my shoulder and stroked my hair, as if I were a mere fretful child.

"If you ask me," he said, when I pressed him to speak his mind, "I must say that I think they showed their sense, Polly. And it's a great relief to me, my dear, on your account. You are so highly strung, pet, that you can't stand things like other people. You'd have been worse than Phyllis. Whereas a placid old Gamp like Mother Juke – "

"Tom!" I broke in sharply. "Who told you that Mother Juke was there?"

"Nobody," said he, with a disconcerted look. "I only thought it likely that she might be. Was she not?"

"She was. But I want to know why you concluded that she was, when I had not mentioned the fact?"

"I didn't conclude it. I only knew that she was keeping an eye on the child, being so experienced, and living so handy."

"How did you know?"

"Ted told me – in a casual way – a good bit ago – I forget exactly when – "

"Tom – "

But Tom pulled out his watch hastily, plainly anxious to avoid the corner he felt himself being pushed into.

"Look here, Polly, if you want to catch that train, and have to pack your bag before you start, there's not a minute to lose. Now that she knows you know, she'll be looking out for you – wanting to show her baby to her mother, bless her little heart! And a fine boy too. I'm glad the first is a boy – though I'm sure I don't know why I should be, for the girls are far and away the best, to my thinking – girls that grow up to be good and pretty women, treasures to the lucky men who get them – like you."

Silly fellow! But he means it all. There are no empty pretences about Tom. To him there is one perfect being in the world, and that's his wife. It comforted me to feel that I was appreciated in one quarter, whatever I might be in others, and the mention of the baby made me forget everything but my longing to have him in my arms.

"I will go at once," I said, "and you must come too, dearest. You must support me against the Juke faction. You must see that your child's mother has her rights."

"Oh, rights be blowed!" he replied, rather rudely. "There's nobody will dream of disputing them. You don't know what a humble-minded, unselfish, dear old soul that mother of Ted's is; she wouldn't deny the rights of a sucking-pig – let alone an important person like you."

"Your mind is always running on pigs," I laughed. "And I am sure that old creature is just like a great sow fattened up for the Agricultural Show. She grunts as she walks – if you can call it walking – and you almost want bullocks to get her out of an armchair when she has once sunk into it."

"Well, that isn't her fault," Tom commented, grave as a judge.

"Of course it isn't," I acquiesced. "She is getting into years now."

"So are we all."

"Yes. But she is fifteen years older than I am, if she's a day."

"Fifteen years'll fly over us before we know it, Polly. And then you won't like to be crowed over, I'll bet."

"Who's crowing? I merely state a fact. She is."

"Then all the more reason why you should be grateful to her."

"Grateful to her for usurping my rights – "