Their mothers also watched, but listlessly, still suckling their babes
as each waited its turn. Only 'Melia Penaluna winced and squeezed her
hands together whenever a feeble wailing told that one of the vaccine
points had made itself felt.
"Do 'ee think it hurts the poor mites?" the youngest mother asked.
"Not much, I reckon," answered the big woman.
Nevertheless her own child cried pitifully when its turn came. And as
it cried, the childless woman in the corner got off her chair and ran
forward tremulously.
"'Becca, let me take him. Do'ee, co!"
"'Melia Penaluna, you'm no better 'n a fool."
But poor, misnamed Amelia was already back in her corner with the
child, hugging it, kissing it, rocking it in her arms, crooning over
it, holding it tightly against the lump that hung down on her barren
bosom. Long after the baby had ceased to cry she sat crooning and
yearning over it. And the mothers watched her, with wonder and
scornful amusement in their eyes.
FROM A COTTAGE IN GANTICK.
I.--THE MOURNER'S HORSE.
The Board Schoolmaster and I are not friends.
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