John Shelley took longer to take in the fact that an infant was lying
crying on his doorstep than his dog had done. He stooped and looked, and
took off his hat to rub his head thoughtfully and stimulate his brain
that he might grasp the idea, and then he stooped again, and this time
picked up the baby, and throwing open the door of the large kitchen,
with its sanded floor of red bricks, stood on the threshold, holding out
the wailing child, and saying--
"Look here, Polly, see what I have found on the doorstep."
Mrs. Shelley, who was sitting working, with her foot on a cradle which
she was rocking gently to and fro, more from habit, since the baby was
asleep, than for any real reason, looked up and saw in her husband's
arms a bundle wrapped in a red shawl embroidered with gold.
"What is it, John?" she asked; but a cry from the bundle answered the
question, and she sprang to her husband's side in astonishment.
She was a tall, good-looking woman, five or six years younger than the
shepherd, with brown hair and eyes, and a rich colour in her cheeks,
which came and went when she was excited; a bright intelligent face,
not beautiful, scarcely handsome in repose, but which at times was so
animated that she often passed for a very pretty woman.
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