Then after a few seconds it became placid: the mouth resumed its usual shape; the limbs relaxed and the child slumbered peacefully.
'Don't you think he's getting thin ?' asked Easton.

'It may be fancy, but he don't seem to me to be as big now as he was three months ago.' 'No, he's not quite so fat,' admitted Ruth.

'It's his teeth what's wearing him out; he don't hardly get no rest at all with them.' They continued looking at him a little longer.

Ruth thought he was a very beautiful child: he would be eight months old on Sunday.

They were sorry they could do nothing to ease his pain, but consoled themselves with the reflection that he would be all right once those teeth were through.
'Well, let's have some tea,' said Easton at last.
Whilst he removed his wet boots and socks and placed them in front of the fire to dry and put on dry socks and a pair of slippers in their stead, Ruth half filled a tin basin with hot water from the boiler and gave it to him, and he then went to the scullery, added some cold water and began to wash the paint off his hands.