Year: 1879

haste and helplessness he rushed up stairs to the library again, carrying the basket in his hands. He sat down upon low settle before the open hearth and lifted out the babe, little girl, perhaps eight months old. She was quite awake now, but she did not cry, as he had ex- pected. She looked all about the room, taking in her new surroundings with wide, wondering eyes at last, swaying slowly backward, she looked up into his face with long questioning gaze, which grew momentarily more self-possessed, as if sbe were trying his very soul be- fore the tribunal of her pure judgment. Perhaps her baby instinct penetrated to the deep springs of tenderness of his nature, looked up so long within the icy inerustations of selfish stubbornness, for suddenly sweet smile broke over her features, and she held up both her tiny hands with crow of delight. John Wsrder's heart swelled in great human throb, and something like tear gather cd in his eye. He held the child close and kissed her, while she wound her fingers in his long beard, laughing glee- fully. The very fire blozed up again as If in answer to the unwonted sound of baby laughing in the house; and the child tried to grasp the hickering shad- ows, and stretched her pink toes in the ruddy glow. Warder was wonder even to himself-he fondled her, danced her on his knee, called her pet names long forgotten, and wondering suddenly if she were in need of food, he set her on the carpet, with his heavy chain and seal for plaything, then he went down stairs to grope his way through the pan try in search of milk and cup in which to warm it at the coals.

 When the baby had drank and played, and drank again, tae long fringes began to droop over her violet eyes, slowly her curly head sank on his shoulder, and she was fast asleep. He laid her down upon the sofa, tucked up in wraps and pillows which he brought from his own sleeping room, then he sat down beside her, and watched the long night through.

 Some of the thoughts which came to him in that silence were known only to God and his own soul. All his past life moved before him like 8 panorama, and in the clear, wonderous light that ehone upon it, and irradiated it through and through, he could not choose but see all things as they were-his own ingratitude and stubborn pride, the love he had crushed, the blessings he had thrown away. Once mora he stood at the bed side of his dying mother. when she gave him, as her last trust, his little fair haired sister, the child of her old age grow up to be-saying, "John, you will be brother, father, and mothsr to her, all in onep He remembered how the little May grew up, a sunshiny creature, making the house glad with her bird like music and her winning ways; how she loved him, and hung about him with kisses and caresses when he came home at night; how proud he was of her beauty and her sparkling wit /; the splen- did match he planned for her and then -oh beginning of dark daysl-the time when 8 penniless clerk came between him and his cherished schemes, with nothing but his love and honest name to give her, yet daring to offer both how she turned from the rich suit to smile upon the poor his own fierce anger her gentle entreaties the day when he cursed her with cruel words, which he shuddered now to recall, and she rose

 up from his feet with the Warder pride

 in her pale, sorrowful face, and went out

 of his home, but ohl never-he knew ii

 tonight l-never yet out of his heart.

 He remembered how, maddened by the news of her marriage, he had been guilty

 of we'll directed insinuation, which had

 lost her husband his situation. He had

 lost sight of them since; he had tried

 year by year to banish them from his

 thought; he did not know tonight Ii

 she were yet alive. The lonely years

 filed past hlm, in which the old home

 had grown still and dreary, while ht

 stuffed the yearnings of hls heart ant

 made no sign-years in which he hat

 become more rich and powerful without

 but always more lean and shriveled ant

 bankrupt within.

 His eye fell on the old book which h.

 had read that evening, and he saw hoy

 he had dared to fill his exiled soul witt

 the husks of willing doubts, denying God, and starving for the want of al that might have fed higher life. Wa there no hope2 He turned to look a

 the babe sleeping still. The gray dawl of the new Christmas day stole il between the heavy curtains, lighting ul } her face, and he thought-no doubtinl now l-how, eighteen hundred year ago, little child was born, poor an, friendless, like this one, heir to {

 heavenly throne indeed, yet cradled il an earthly manager. t And they shal ! call his name Emmanuel, for he sha] save his people from their sins" Tn words came like long forgotten music = he had learned them to say at hi ? mothers knee. While they still san D themselves over in his thought, tn babe awoke and stretched her littl hands to him, with smile of recognition l John Warden had forgotten to pray a others do; he could not shape hi petitions according to the creeds of men d and yet I think that Go met his broke '- shame-faced soul, where it stood afs p off, not daring to come nearer, and gay 8 it, in the sweet confidence of tn U innocent child. the token at once of