slightest. Young Billy
Lush, charging his soft, boyish voice with all the horrifying intent he
could muster, threatened to "catch" the baby, as though bent upon
devouring it on the spot; but the baby only chuckled with delight. Billy
the Beast incautiously approached a finger near the baby's stout
abdomen; and the baby--with a perfectly fearless glance into the very
depths of the Beast's frowzy beard--clutched the finger and smiled like
an angel. Long Butcher Long attempted to tweak the baby's nose; but the
effort was a ridiculous failure, practiced so clumsily on an object so
small, and the only effect was to cause the baby to achieve a tremendous
wriggle and a loud scream of laughter. These experiments were variously
repeated, but all with the same cherubic result; the baby conducted
itself with admirable self-possession and courage, as though, indeed, it
had been used, every hour of its life, to the company of riotous
lumber-jacks in town.

The inevitable happened, of course: Billy the Beast, whose pocket was
smoking with his wages, proposed the baby's health, and there was an
uproarious rush for the bar.

"Just a minute, boys!" John Fairmeadow drawled.

It was an awkward moment: but the jacks were by this time used to being
bidden by this man who was a man, and the rush was forthwith halted.

"Just a minute, boys," John Fairmeadow repeated, "for your minister!"

The baby was then held aloft in John Fairmeadow's big, kind, sensitive
hands, and from this safe perch softly smiled upon the crowd of flushed
and bearded faces all roundabout.

"Boys," John Fairmeadow drawled, significantly, "this is the only sort
of church we have in these woods."

There was a laughing stir and shuffling: but presently a tolerant
silence fell, in obedience to the custom John Fairmeadow had
established; and caps came off, and pipes were smothered.

"A little away from the bar, please," the big preacher suggested.

Pale Peter nodded to Charlie the Infidel; and the clink of glasses
ceased--and the bottles were left in peace--and the hands of the
bartender rested.

"Now, boys," said John Fairmeadow, letting the foundling fall softly
into his arms, "I'm not going to preach to you to-night, though God
knows you need it! I'm just going to pray for the baby. _Dear Father of
us wilful Children of the Vale_," he began, at once, lifting a placid,
believing face above the smiling child in his arms, "_we ask Thy
guardianship of this child.