It was, according to her calendar, the day that her pregnancy would have been done, had she listened to the variety of books she had amassed. Forty weeks had passed (and some days in addition) and there she stood, Lydia kicking at the ready, but hardly in her arms as a newborn; she was yet still inside. Jane was beginning to become quite worried
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"G'mornin'!" I say, seein' Jane comin' out of her hut.
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She was in dire need of a good rest.
"The baby should have come already!" Jane informed Scout, her own eyes wide. "But she has not, so we await with great anxiety."
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