r the farm-house, and when
nothing but a bit of south roof and the tops of the cottonwoods showed
that a habitation was there, that the stork alighted.

The big brothers were drowsing in the dark about the pipe, with the pack
whimpering beside them, and did not know of his coming until, in a
sudden lull, there came up through the open trap-door that led to the
sitting-room stairs a small, clear, hailing cry.

It sounded but for an instant. Then the storm broke again, the windows
rattled, the dogs whined, the sleet-charged air boomed and thundered and
sucked at the quivering house, and darkness, ever blacker and more
terrible, settled down.

* * * * *

WHEN the neighbor woman came softly up and put her head above the
trap-door, she had to call again and again into the gloom, through which
the lines of frozen clothes waved faint and ghost-like, before the big
brothers awoke and, rising from their cramped positions, groped their
way sleepily to the stairs and followed her down. As they reached the
sitting-room and stood in a silent, waiting row by the stove, the dogs
about them, the neighbor woman tiptoed to the canopied bed in the corner
and took up a tiny bundle, which she brought back and laid in the arms
of the biggest brother.

Then she leaned back, all fat and smiling, as the big brothers bent over
the bundle and looked into a wee, puckered, pink face. It was the little
girl.

II

A FRONTIER CHRISTENING

THE christening of the little girl began the very morning after the
stork flew down through the blizzard and left her. For the three big
brothers, rejoicing that they were still only three, got out the
almanac, the world's atlas, and the dictionary, went carefully through
the first two, read a long list in the back of the last, and wrote down
all the names they liked. Then they set about trying to decide upon one.

It was difficult, for their selections were numerous. The world's atlas
had yielded Morena, Lansing, and Virginia; the back of the dictionary, a
generous line beginning with Abigail and ending with Zoraida; and the
almanac, May and June from the months, Maria and Geraldine from the
scattered jokes, and Louisa, Fanny, and Rose from the testimonials of
ladies who had been cured of influenza, hay-fever, and chilblains. So
not only that day, but a whole week passed away in lively discussion,
and they were no nearer a choice than ever.

Their mother gave no th