Chapter 21 - Page 2

grate--and a tidy, swept-up
hearth--and the baby breathing so soft in his flannels."

She was a pretty thing and quite unfit to take care of herself even if
she had had no children. Dowie knew that she was not beset by
sentimental views of life and that all she wanted was a warm and
comfortable corner to settle down into. Some masculine creature would be
sure to begin to want her very soon. It was only to be hoped that youth
and flightiness would not descend upon her--though three children might
be supposed to form a barrier. But she had a girlish figure and her hair
was reddish gold and curly and her full and not too small mouth was red
and curly also. The first time she went to church in her little widow's
bonnet with the reddish gold showing itself under the pathetic little
white crêpe border, she was looked at a good deal. Especially was she
looked at by an extremely respectable middle-aged widower who had been a
friend of her dead husband's. His wife had been dead six years, he had a
comfortable house and a comfortable shop which had thriven greatly
through a connection with army supplies.

He came to see Henrietta and he had the good sense to treat Dowie as if
she were her mother. He explained himself and his circumstances to her
and his previous friendship for her nephew. He asked Dowie if she
objected to his coming to see her niece and bringing toys to the
children.

"I'm fond of young ones. I wanted 'em myself. I never had any," he said
bluntly. "There's plenty of room in my house. It's a cheerful place with
good solid furniture in it from top to bottom. There's one room we used
to call 'the Nursery' sometimes just for a joke--not often. I choked up
one day when I said it and Mary Jane burst out crying. I could do with
six."

He was stout about the waist but his small blue eyes sparkled in his red
face and Henrietta's slimness unromantically but practically approved of
him.

One evening Dowie came into the little parlour to find her sitting upon
his knee and he restrained her when she tried to rise hastily.

"Don't get up, Hetty," he said. "Your Aunt Sarah Ann'll understand.
We've had a talk and she's a sensible woman. She says she'll marry me,
Mrs. Dowson--as soon as it's right and proper."

"Yes, we've had a talk," Dowie replied in her nice steady voice. "He'll
be a good husband to you, Henrietta--kind to the children."

"I'd be kind to them even if she wouldn't marry me," the stout lover
answered. "I want 'em. I've told myself sometimes that I ought to have
been the mother of six--not the father but the mother. And I'm not
joking."

"I don't believe you are, Mr.