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reminded me of my childhood idea of Santa Claus.

His laugh died as suddenly as it had come. He was at the bedside
before I knew what was happening.

It was time.

He motioned me to take my position back at the foot of the bed.
The midwife stood by with a pan of steaming water and some cloths.
Somewhere she had fonud a clean sheet, yellowed with age. She spread
it over the patchwork quilt that covered the patient. The doctor's
hands worked swiftly under the sheet.

Beads of persperiation on her brow, the woman lay still except
for an occasional muscular contraction that shook her body. At such
times, my hands slipped on her large ankles. A low moan came from
the patient as the doctor brought a gray and red bundle of flesh from
under the sheet. I did not look again.

A faint mewing struck my ears; then a resounding smack brought
a very life-like wail. The midwife took the infant and carrying it
to the woodbox, began bathing it in the rusty tin pan of steaming
water.

The doctor finished his work and stepped off the bed. I got
down, wanting to go out the door, but thought better of it. I would
have washed my hands, but everything was being used.

Doctor Clark took some instruments from the hot water and
returned to the bedside. He worked for several minutes, and then while
washing his hands, gave instructions to the midwife. She was grinning
at the newborn baby, paying little attention to the doctor. Once more
he went to the bed and felt the mother's pulse, looked in her eyes and

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