the child in her arms and approached the clergyman.

"Herr Pastor," sounded the soft voice, "you must be content with _one_
sponsor, for unfortunately my sister has not come."

The clergyman raised his head. "Then you might, Mrs. Smith--" he signed
to the elder woman.

Frank Linden stood suddenly before the font beside the young girl; he
hardly knew himself how he got there so quickly.

"Allow me to be the second sponsor," he said.--"I came into the church
by chance, a perfect stranger here; I should be sorry to miss the first
opportunity to perform a Christian duty in my new home."

He had obeyed a sudden impulse and he was understood. The gray-haired
clergyman nodded, smiling. "It is a poor child, early left fatherless,
sir," he replied. "The father was killed four weeks before its
birth--you will be doing a good work--are you satisfied?" he said,
turning to the mother. "Well then--Engelman, write down the name of the
godfather in the register."

"Carl Max Francis Linden," said the young man.

And then they stood together before the pastor, these two who a quarter
of an hour ago had had no knowledge of one another; she held the
sleeping child in her arms; she had not looked up, the quick flush of
surprise still lingered on the delicate face, and the simple lace on
the infant's cushion trembled slightly.

The clergyman spoke only a few words, but they sank deep into the
hearts of both. Linden looked down on the brown drooping head beside
him, the two hands rested on the infant's garments, two warm young
hands close together, and from the lips of both came a clear distinct
"Yes" in answer to the clergyman's questions. When the rite was ended,
the young girl took the child to its weeping mother and pressed a kiss
on the small red cheek, then she came up to Linden and her eyes gazed
at him with a mixture of wonder and gratitude.

"I thank you, sir," she said, laying her small hand in his for a
moment. "I thank you in the name of the poor woman--it was so good of
you."

Then with a proud bend of her small head she went away, the heavy silk
of her dress making a slight rustling about her as she walked. She
paused a moment at the door in the full daylight and looked back at him
as he stood motionless by the font looking after her; it seemed as if
she bent her head once more in greeting and then she disappeared.

Frank Linden remained behind alone in the quiet church. Who could she
be who had just stood beside hi