She went away a maid and came back a year ago
with a child and without a name. Her mother was dead, her father
and the village would have none of her: the homing instinct is
very strong, or she would scarcely have returned, knowing the
traditions of the place. Old Dodden, seeing her, grumbled to me in
the rest-time.--"Can't think what the farmer wants wi' Lizzie Banks
in 'is field." "She must live," I said, "and by all showing her
life is a hard one." "She 'ad the makin' of 'er bed," he went on,
obstinately. "What for do she bring her disgrace home, wi' a
fatherless brat for all folks to see? We don't want them sort in
our village. The Lord's hand is heavy, an' a brat's a curse that
cannot be hid."
When tea-time came I crossed the field to look for a missing hone,
and saw Elizabeth Banks far from the other women, busied with a
bundle under the hedge. I passed close on my search, and lo! the
bundle was a little boy. He lay smiling and stretching, fighting
the air with his small pink fists, while the wind played with his
curls. "A curse that cannot be hid," old Dodden had said. The
mother knelt a moment, devouring him with her eyes, then snatched
him to her with aching greed and covered him with kisses. I saw
the poor, plain face illumined, transfigured, alive with a mother's
love, and remembered how the word came once to a Hebrew prophet:-
Say unto your brethren Ammi, and to your sisters Ruhamah.
The evening sky was clouding fast, the sound of rain was in the
air; Farmer Marler shook his head as he looked at the grass lying
in ordered rows.
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