Waterbury evening Democrat., 1904-08-08

impulsive nature. Her brother watched her as she stood looking down at the child with tears in her eyes. Then he turned away to the window.
 Do you want her, Helen?" he asked, very low.
 Want her? Of course dol" she cried passionately T feel as if she were mine already. Oh, Jim, you need not give her up, you know-she will be al- ways yours; but you will let me have her to take care of and keep for you. We will be so tender of her, you and I- we will never. let her miss her mothers love-"
 He did not reply for a moment. Then he spoke again, with something of an effort, and duly, his face still averted.
 Mary wants her, too?" he said.
 Helens heart gave great leap, indig- nant, apprehensive, defiant. "Oh. Jim,'' she said; all her protest was in the words and in her voice as she spoke them. It was no use to argue with Jim. Gentle as he was argument had always made him obstinate He would do as he chose. To ignore the quest4on-not to admit that there was a question-that was the best way with him. But even while she stood there with the child in her arms, and the ap- peal still in her 4ace, Mary entered the room.
 She looked quickly, omprehendingly at Helen and Jim, at the child in the other womans arms. Then she spoke without prelude, her voice quiet, yet singularly breathless.
 'sWe have no children, she said. we have never had child, John and I. We have always wanted one. And this is Katherine, my only sisters child. It would be like my own to me-what my own might have been"
 ''But 1t is Jim's child," Helen broke in, land Jim is my brother. have little daughter of my own, too, and she will be sister to this one. They will be brought up together in Jim s home. Nosone could be what can to Jim's child!'
 Unconsciously she pressed the little creature closer as she spoke, and she broke into a sudden cry. The dull quiet of Jim's face changed and gave way. His hand clencheds itself at his side.
 Katherine" he said, with a groan, s'poor little Katherine!" l His voice broke; and Helen, hearing that and seeing in his face what sho had not seen there before, the despair ing anguish of strong man whose grief forces itself through the iron bands of his self-control, forgot all else but him.
 She laid the baby down hastily upon the sofa beside her, and ran to him.
 "Oh!" putting her hands on his arm and laying her cheek upon it. But Mary went swiftly and stealth fly to the sofa and gathered the baby in her arms She hushed it's whimper- ing cry, lulled and fondled and talked to it with low murmurs and caresses of tenderness. She was still hanging over the little creature, absorbed and un conscious of the others, when Jim left his sister and crossed the room to her She looked up and started, that ex- pression still upon her face. "Give her to mel" said the childs father, almost roughly. And, taking it in his arms, he carried 1t quickly out of the room.
 Tt Is for him to decide said Mary, simply. after little pause
 t'Yes," Helen assented. She was con- tent to hold her piece after that. It was for Jim to decide. and she had lit tie fear as to the result.
 The vicar's low voice, the stately phrases of the baptismal service sounded solemnly in the silence.
 Helen bowed her head, and could not see for tears There was a little stir among the others. The child's father, very white and quiet, had taken her from the nurse and given her himself into the arms of the clergyman. He was an old man, dry and lifeless as withered leaf, but there was tremo- In his voice, as he gave the child back to her father. He took her, and with bowed head went quickly towards his sister-in-law, to Mary, and laying the ] child in her arms, stood there beside ! her until the last prayer had been said. and the last Amen" had fallen with inexpressible melancholy and pathos upon the deepened hush. l Tn the evening, when Jim and his sister were left alone together at last for moment in the library, he went over to Helen by, the fire, and took her hand.
 i. You are disappointed, Helen?' he asked
 She could not trust herself to speak, but stood looking down in silence that was all too eloquent to the broth CT who understood her so well.
 You must forgive me, dear," he said. Tt was hard, Helen. Heaven knows-but there was just one thing that settled it for me was thinking of Katherine-of the baby-and--I saw it plainly enough-you women cannot keep anything out of your faces, you know; Helen, you wanted-me; 1; but Mary wanted-the baby!''
 The unsparing inevitable appeal of the truth went home to Helen's heart. She acknowledged 1t in silence, look ing straight into her brothers eyes sad, earnest unwavering.
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