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Updated: October 6, 2026
"A pity the poor baby didn't go with her," said Aunt Roxy; "seven-months' children are so hard to raise." "'Tis a pity," said the other. But babies will live, and all the more when everybody says that it is a pity they should. Life goes on as inexorably in this world as death.
In ten months, July 15, I had a seven-months baby that lived five hours. In eleven months, June 20, I had another little girl. In seventeen months, Nov. 30, another boy. In nine months a four months' miscarriage. In twelve months another girl, and in three and a half years another girl.
"She was a seven-months' baby, and hard to raise at all, and a shivery, scary little creature." "Well, then, she ought to be hardened," said Dame Kittridge. "But Mary Pennel never had no sort of idea of bringin' up children; 'twas jist so with Naomi, the girl never had no sort o' resolution, and she just died for want o' resolution, that's what came of it.