with her, prayed with her,
comforted her, and helped her across the river. He is a good soul, and
has no nonsense about him. Send for me if you think there is need. It
will make no difference to the baby, but it will comfort the mother.'

Nixon was willing enough to go; but when he came to the door Mrs. Mavor
saw the hard look in his face. He had not forgotten his wrong, for day
by day he was still fighting the devil within that Slavin had called to
life. But Mrs. Mavor, under cover of getting him instructions, drew him
into the room. While listening to her, his eyes wandered from one to the
other of the group till they rested upon the little white face in the
crib. She noticed the change in his face.

'They fear the little one will never see the Saviour if it is not
baptized,' she said, in a low tone.

He was eager to go.

'I'll do my best to get the priest,' he said, and was gone on his sixty
miles' race with death.

The long afternoon wore on, but before it was half gone I saw Nixon
could not win, and that the priest would be too late, so I sent for Mr.
Craig. From the moment he entered the room he took command of us all.
He was so simple, so manly, so tender, the hearts of the parents
instinctively turned to him.

As he was about to proceed with the baptism, the mother whispered to
Mrs. Mavor, who hesitatingly asked Mr. Craig if he would object to using
holy water.

'To me it is the same as any other,' he replied gravely.

'An' will he make the good sign?' asked the mother timidly.

And so the child was baptized by the Presbyterian minister with holy
water and with the sign of the cross. I don't suppose it was orthodox,
and it rendered chaotic some of my religious notions, but I thought more
of Craig that moment than ever before. He was more man than minister, or
perhaps he was so good a minister that day because so much a man. As he
read about the Saviour and the children and the disciples who tried to
get in between them, and as he told us the story in his own simple
and beautiful way, and then went on to picture the home of the little
children, and the same Saviour in the midst of them, I felt my heart
grow warm, and I could easily understand the cry of the mother--

'Oh, mon Jesu, prenez moi aussi, take me wiz mon mignon.'

The cry wakened Slavin's heart, and he said huskily--

'Oh! Annette! Annette!'

'Ah, oui! an' Michael too!' Then to Mr. Craig--

'You tink He's tak me some day? Eh?'

'All