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By Root 5081 0

old mother was tender with wife, never so tender with anyone but Hamlet. Never spoke of trouble but seemed to sense babe-in-wood situation. Nothing of convenience in marriage, however. Made in heaven; so it seemed. Sweet child woke with writer in early mornings. Darned socks, made marriage bed sweet, cleaned lamp chimneys, waxed rosewood piano. Thought often of future. Dispose of troll-child and raise own family. Live in rose-covered cottage after demise of sainted old mother. In church writer often thanked God for sweetness of spouse. Prayed with full heart. Never had occasion to thank same for anything else. Wife sang sometimes in evening, accompanied by sainted old mother on Hallet & Davis rosewood piano. Voice modest in range but true pitch and oh so clear. Sweet, good, loving, kindly, spirit.

Little troll very lively. Abdomen swollen, but no disfigurement. Easily fatigued during dog days. Accouchement expected in October. Sent message to office one afternoon. Left office at three. Found bags packed, both wife’s and writer’s. Took late train to Nahant. Hired livery to Rutherford farm. Reached there nine o’clock or later. Dark house. Smelled salt in wind. Heard harsh, regular noise of waves. Used both bell pull and knocker. Door opened by sallow-faced woman in nightdress, wrapper. Hair in rags. “I don’t know your names,” says she. “I don’t want to know them. The sooner you get out of here the better.” Lighted lamp. Unpacked bags. Went to bed. Wife slept poorly. Often spoke in sleep. Unclear words. Listened all night to troubled speaking; also moiling of sea. Seemed from sound of waves to be flat, stony beach. Distinguished rattling, knocking sound of stones. Milk-pail, cattle sounds before dawn. Woke early. Washed in cold water. “You’ll take your meals in kitchen,” said sallow-faced landlady. “So far as you’re able you’ll do your own work. I’m not going to be picking up after you.”

Husband of same introduced self at breakfast. 5’6”. 125 pounds. Runty. Poor specimen. Appeared to be henpecked. Former livery-stable proprietor or so claimed. Tales of prosperity. Once possessed biggest wardrobe in Nahant. Sixty-four horses. Seven grooms on payroll. All lost in epidemic. Documents of splendor displayed. Receipted feed bill for one thousand dollars. Also tailor bill, butcher bill, grocery bill, etc. All gone. Walked with Clarissa on beach. Dear wife gathered colored stones, shells in skirt. Day slow to pass. Situation seemed like Gordian knot and to cut same dreamed of future. Painted rosy picture of country cottage, children gathered around knees, pleasant life. Net result of such woolgathering was to make wife weep.

Labor pains began at seven. Wet bed. Broke waters or some such term. Writer unfamiliar, even today, with obstetrical lingo. “Our Father who art in heaven,” said Clarissa. Prayed continuously. Pain arduous. First experience with such things. Held wife in arms when seizures commenced. Sallow-faced landlady waited in next room. Sound of rocking chair. “Put blanket over her mouth,” she said. “They’ll hear her up at the Dexter place.” Most violent seizure at eleven. Suddenly saw blood, baby’s head. Landlady rushed in. Drove me away. Called henpecked husband to bring water, rags, etc. Much coming and going. Sallow-faced landlady emerged at 2 A.M. “You have a little daughter,” says she. Magical transformation! Butter wouldn’t melt in mouth. Went in to see baby. Sleeping in soapbox. Clarissa also sleeping. Kissed brow. Sat in chair until morning. Went for walk on beach. Clouds shaped like curved ribbing of scallop shell. Light pouring off sea into same. Form of sky still vivid in memory. Returned to room on tiptoe. Opened door. Clarissa in bed, smiling. Masses of dark hair. Baby at breast, swollen with milk. Writer cried for first time since leaving West River. “Don’t cry,” Clarissa says. “I’m happy.”

Heavy step of sallow-faced landlady. Transformation still in order. “God bless you, you dear, sweet little girl,” she says to the baby. High, squeaky voice. “Look at her dear little fingers,” says she. “Look at her dear