“It is Rhea’s infant. The end of the world seemed at hand. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. "You cannot understand me, Madam; and it is well you cannot. She obeyed, extending her arm. He is big and powerful; one of those drinkers who show it but little outwardly. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat.
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