was too tired to think any longer, too
tired even to suffer.

A brisk knock at the door roused her from her apathy sufficiently for a
resentful wish that they would leave her to herself. Then the door
opened and Persis entered. Her face wore the look that had impressed
Annabel on the face of Mrs. West, that look of supreme satisfaction,
blended with a curious, vicarious pride, and with it all, something
that told of tears held back. Annabel's eyes went from that radiant
look to the shawl-draped bundle in Persis' arms. She put out her hand
as if to ward off a danger.

Persis halted, gazing in consternation at the wreck of Annabel. In
that shallow face the record of mental anguish was so unmistakable that
the other woman felt a pang of self-reproach.

"Here I've been leaving this poor little bundle of nerves to fight this
thing through all alone. I'd ought to have known she'd be scaring
herself into a conniption." As a reaction from the severity with which
she dealt with her own thoughtlessness, Persis' voice, in addressing
Annabel was as tender and caressing as if she strove to soothe a
troubled child.

"Well, Mis' Sinclair, your worry's over. Diantha came through this
fine, and before we know it, she'll be up and about and as lively as a
cricket. But it's been a hard day for you same as for the rest of us.
The Lord asks a good deal of women, to help Him keep this old world
a-going, but He's got His own way of making it up to 'em."

As if to give point to her words, Persis' eyes dropped to the bundle in
her arms. She came a step nearer.

"I s'pose, of course, you're glad it's a boy. I don't know why it is,
but you just can't help feeling tickled when the first baby's a boy.
Nine pounds, too. That's a grandson to be proud of."

"Don't! Don't! I don't want to see it."

Annabel's cry was involuntary, wrung from her by the realization of
Persis' purpose. And Persis who had lifted the shawl that concealed
the little face, let it fall again and stood staring.

"You don't want--to see the baby?"

The revulsion indicated by Annabel's attitude was a sufficient answer.
Persis crossed to the cot-bed and sat down. If there was a person on
earth she cordially detested, it was Annabel Sinclair, yet the
conviction that this poor counterfeit of a woman was in need of
strength and sympathy was sufficient to thrust that old dislike into
the background.

"I guess to-day's been pretty trying to your nerves, Mi