"Listen, Julia!" he said, catching her
arm. "D'you hear them? It's the peepers! We used to call them that,
little frogs, you know--sure sign of the spring!"
And as the wind lulled Julia heard the brave little voices of a hundred
tiny croakers in some wet bit of meadow. "We'll have buttercups next
week!" said Jim.
He told her something of the sick man to whom they were going, and spoke
of other cases, of his work and his hopes.
"Poor Kearney!" said Jim, "his oldest kid was sick, then his wife had a
new baby, and now this! You'll like the baby--he's a nice little kid. I
took him in my arms last time I was here, and I wish you could have seen
the little lip curl up, but he wouldn't cry! A kid two months old can be
awfully cunning!" He looked a little ashamed of this sentiment, but
Julia thought she had never seen anything so bright and simple and
lovable as the smile with which he asked her sympathy.
She was presently mothering the baby, in the Kearneys' little hot
living-room, while Doctor Studdiford caused the patient in the room
beyond to shout with pain. The howling wind had a sinister sound, heard
up here within walls, and Julia was glad to be out in it, and going down
the hills again.
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