ot worth cultivating.

David had retained his name, being one used also by Christians; but Ruth
had been required to change hers. She had chosen the name of Christian,
as the most truthful and expressive that she could take.

"And I like to feel," she said to David, "that I have something of our
blessed Lord in my name."

"Let us keep Him in our hearts, Wife," was the answer: "then it will not
much matter whether or no we have Him any where else."

It was bitterly cold in the hovel that snowy night. The children had
cried themselves to sleep, and the parents felt as if they could easily
have done the same. The lights were out at Dorchester, and all nature
had settled down to rest, when Christian, who could not sleep for the
cold, fancied she heard a voice outside the hut.

"David!" it seemed to say.

But the voice, if voice there were, was faint, and Christian did not
like to rouse the husband who had lost his suffering in sleep, for what
might have been a mere fancy. The voice spoke again.

"Ruth!" it said this time.

Christian hesitated no longer.

"David! There is one without, calling on us. And it must be one we
knew of old, for it calls me by my old name. Pray thee, get up, and let
the poor soul in; 'tis not a night for a dog to tarry without, never
speak of a human creature, who must be in some trouble."

David sat up and listened.

"I hear nothing, Wife. I think thou must have been dreaming."

"Nay, I have been wide awake this hour gone. I am sure some one spoke."

"I think it's fancy, Christian. However--"

"There's no harm in making sure."

"There's the harm of letting in a lot of snow," said David, not suiting
the action to the word, for he had risen and was pulling on his hose.
They required careful pulling, as they were so nearly in pieces that
very little rough handling would have damaged them past repair. He was
fastening the last clasp when the voice spoke again. It was nearer now,
close at the door, and it was low and trembling, as if the applicant had
hard work to speak at all.

"For the love of the Crucified," it said, "take in a Christian child!"

David's response was to open the door instantly.

Something at once staggered in, and sank down on the bench:--something
which looked at first sight more like a statue of white marble than a
human being, so thick lay the snow over the wrappers which enfolded it.
But when David had succeeded in unfolding the wrappers, and brus