Miss Crislock died the preceding November, which, I suppose, was a blessing for her. It still brought me pain when I thought of her and what she had become.

As for my husband, the proud papa, in the days following Jarrod's birth, he whistled a great deal, and laughed, and caught me behind a dressing screen to kiss me and tell me that he would allow me to drink brandy with him at dinner that night.

Life, I thought, as I smiled at my sleeping small son, was very sweet. But having life, I knew that I had to savor every blessed moment. I looked up when John came into our bedchamber. He had a bunch of beautiful blooming flowers in his hands. "From the Batherstoke's greenhouse, where our Miss Bennington used to live. The flowers are in appreciation for bringing George into her life and into theirs."

I heard George barking outside. John had inadvertently closed the door. I looked over at all of George's offspring nestled together in the big basket by the fireplace, Miss Bennington licking them.

John let George in, and he marched immediately to the basket. He took his post, standing tall, his topknot quivering, his tail waving gently to and fro, their protector.

I laughed and hugged my son and his proud papa to me.

421.