e of these was a crib which had been his. This was standing in a
corner of the room with the little pillow and white spread in perfect
order. For a few moments Mrs. Royal stood looking down upon the small
cot associated with such sweet memories. Then she placed the candle
upon a small table and set earnestly to work. First she removed the
clothes and mattress and carried the crib into her own room across the
hall. Going back for the clothes, she carried them downstairs, and
spread them upon the backs of several chairs for them to warm before
the fire.

Parson Dan watched her intently, but made no comment. He fully
realised how risky it was to speak just then. He knew how much it
meant for his wife to disturb that little cot and make it ready for a
strange child. Neither did he wish to say anything, for he himself was
deeply stirred as memories of other days rushed upon him. When at last
Rodney was carefully covered and sound asleep in the crib upstairs,
they both stood looking down upon his sweet round face.

"Poor little waif," Mrs. Royal remarked. "He is somebody's child, and
perhaps his mother is longing for him at this very moment."

"There is no doubt about it," her husband replied. "That sob which I
heard to-night is still ringing in my ears, and I know it was the sob
of a heart-broken mother."

CHAPTER II

GIVING AND RECEIVING

The baby awoke bright and early the next morning, in fact too early for
Mr. and Mrs. Royal. The former, especially, enjoyed the hour from six
to seven, when, as he once said, he obtained his "beauty sleep." But
the little stranger of the night was no respecter of persons. He
lifted up his voice at the unnatural hour of five, and by means of a
series of gurgles, whoops, and complaints, drove all sleep from drowsy
eyes. He was not in the least abashed in the presence of strangers,
but standing in his crib, he rattled the side, and yelled shouts of
baby defiance at the other occupants of the room.

"I didn't know that he could stand alone," the parson remarked as he
first saw Rodney scramble to his feet. "How old do you suppose he is?"

"About fourteen months, I should judge, Daniel," his wife replied. "He
may be older, though. One can't always tell."

"He's a stirring lad, anyway, Martha, and we shall have our hands full.
Won't you need some help, dear? How would it do to get a woman in
occasionally to assist with the work, as the baby will take so much of