Lovey Mary | Page 3

in
your division?"
As Lovey Mary looked at the gaily dressed girl on the sofa, her
animosity rekindled. It was not Kate's bold black eyes that stirred her
wrath, nor the hard red lips that recalled the taunts of other days: it was
the sight of the auburn curls gathered in tantalizing profusion under the
brim of the showy hat.
"Mary, answer my question!" said Miss Bell, sharply.
With an involuntary shudder of repugnance Lovey Mary drew her gaze

from Kate and murmured, "Yes, 'm."
"Then you can take the baby with you," continued Miss Bell, motioning
to the sleeping child. "But wait a moment. I think I will put Jennie at
the head of your division and let you have entire charge of this little
boy. He is only a year old, Kate tells me, so will need constant
attention."
Lovey Mary was about to protest, when Kate broke in:
"Oh, say, Miss Bell, please get some other girl! Tommy never would
like Lovey. He's just like me: if people ain't pretty, he don't have no use
for 'em."
"That will do, Kate," said Miss Bell, coldly. "It is only pity for the child
that makes me take him at all. You have forfeited all claim upon our
sympathy or patience. Mary, take the baby up-stairs and care for him
until I come."
Lovey Mary, hot with rebellion, picked him up and went out of the
room. At the door she stumbled against two little girls who were
listening at the keyhole.
Up-stairs in the long dormitory it was very quiet. The children had been
marched away to Sunday-school, and only Lovey Mary and the
sleeping baby were on the second floor. The girl sat beside the little
white bed and hated the world as far as she knew it: she hated Kate for
adding this last insult to the old score; she hated Miss Bell for putting
this new burden on her unwilling shoulders; she hated the burden itself,
lying there before her so serene and unconcerned; and most of all she
hated herself.
"I wisht I was dead!" she cried passionately. "The harder I try to be
good the meaner I get. Ever'body blames me, and ever'body makes fun
of me. Ugly old face, and ugly old hands, and straight old rat-tail hair!
It ain't no wonder that nobody loves me. I just wisht I was dead!"
The sunshine came through the window and made a big white patch on

the bare floor, but Lovey Mary sat in the shadow and disturbed the
Sunday quiet by her heavy sobbing.
At noon, when the children returned, the noise of their arrival woke
Tommy. He opened his round eyes on a strange world, and began to cry
lustily. One child after another tried to pacify him, but each friendly
advance increased his terror.
"Leave him be!" cried Lovey Mary. "Them hats is enough to skeer him
into fits." She picked him up, and with the knack born of experience
soothed and comforted him. The baby hid his face on her shoulder and
held her tight. She could feel the sobs that still shook the small body,
and his tears were on her cheek.
"Never mind," she said. "I ain't a-going to let 'em hurt you. I'm going to
take care of you. Don't cry any more. Look!"
She stretched forth her long, unshapely hand and made grotesque
snatches at the sunshine that poured in through the window. Tommy
hesitated and was lost; a smile struggled to the surface, then broke
through the tears.
"Look! He's laughing!" cried Lovey Mary, gleefully. "He's laughing
'cause I ketched a sunbeam for him!"
Then she bent impulsively and kissed the little red lips so close to her
own.
CHAPTER II
A RUNAWAY COUPLE
"Courage mounteth with occasion."
For two years Lovey Mary cared for Tommy: she bathed him and
dressed him, taught him to walk, and kissed his bumps to make them
well; she sewed for him and nursed him by day, and slept with him in
her tired arms at night. And Tommy, with the inscrutable philosophy of

childhood, accepted his little foster-mother and gave her his all.
One bright June afternoon the two were romping in the home yard
under the beech-trees. Lovey Mary lay in the grass, while Tommy
threw handfuls of leaves in her face, laughing with delight at her
grimaces. Presently the gate clicked, and some one came toward them.
"Good land! is that my kid?" said a woman's voice. "Come here, Tom,
and kiss your mother."
Lovey Mary, sitting up, found Kate Rider, in frills and ribbons, looking
with surprise at the sturdy child before her.
Tommy objected violently to this sudden overture and declined
positively to acknowledge the relationship. In fact, when Kate
attempted to pull him to her,