he bereaved
father. It cried at first; but she soon got him so comfortable and
content, that he was laughing and cooing into the wintry looking faces of
his father and new nurse. I wanted to have the dear little fellow in my
own arms, he had such a bright, intelligent face, and his smile was so
sunny; but I could not muster courage to go and ask for him.

Mrs. Flaxman probably noticed my wistful look, for she presently returned
to her own seat bringing him with her. She had scarcely left the father's
side when a white-haired, kindly-faced old gentleman at the farther end
of the car got up and came stumbling along, and took a seat beside him.
The poor fellow winced. He shrank, no doubt, from opening his wound
afresh for another stranger to probe. But there was something so
sympathetic in the old man's face, and the hearty shake of the hand that
he gave without even speaking, that I concluded he would do more good
than harm. After sitting a little while in silence, I overheard him
telling how he had heard of his trouble through the conductor. I had not
asked him anything about his wife's death, that seemed a grief too sacred
to explain to a perfect stranger; but he had told Mrs. Flaxman all, and I
sat listening with a strong desire to cry while she repeated the story to
us.

"His wife died very suddenly," she said, "and they were all strangers
where they lived; but every one, he said, was so kind. He is taking his
baby home to his mother. They live a little way out of Cavendish. He said
he knew us; and was never so surprised at anything in his life as when
a beautiful young lady, like you, traveling, too, with Mr. Winthrop, came
and took his baby. Everybody was looking so crossly at the baby, he had
just begun to feel as if there was no sympathy for him in all this world
full of strangers; but, when you came, there was a great load taken off
his heart. I mean after this to be more on the watch to help others."

"Why, Mrs. Flaxman, I thought that was one of your strongest
characteristics."

"Don't ever say such a thing to me again, when if it had not been for a
tender-hearted child, with the very poorest possible opinion of herself,
we might have, amongst us, finished breaking that poor fellow's heart."

"You will make her vain if you continue praising her so much," Mr.
Winthrop remonstrated.

"She has not a natural tendency that way, and we have not helped to
foster her vanity; if we have erred, it has been in the o