r to receive them. Nothing but imminent danger
of death can justify the performance of those sacred rites at any other
place. Bring the boy to church next Sabbath afternoon."

"What! bring this child to church!--before all the congregation! I
should die of mortification!" said Hannah.

"Why? Are you to blame for what has happened? Or is he? Even if the boy
were what he is supposed to be,--the child of sin,--it would not be his
fault. Do you think in all the congregation there is a soul whiter than
that of this child? Has not the Saviour said, 'Suffer little children to
come unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven?'
Bring the boy to church, Hannah! bring the boy to church," said the
pastor, as he took up his hat and departed.

Accordingly the next Sabbath afternoon Hannah Worth took Ishmael to the
church, which was, as usual, well filled.

Poor Hannah! Poor, gentle-hearted, pure-spirited old maid! She sat there
in a remote corner pew, hiding her child under her shawl and hushing him
with gentle caresses during the whole of the afternoon service. And when
after the last lesson had been read the minister came down to the font
and said: "Any persons present having children to offer for baptism will
now bring them forward," Hannah felt as if she would faint. But
summoning all her resolution, she arose and came out of her pew,
carrying the child. Every eye in the church turned full upon her. There
was no harm meant in this; people will gaze at every such a little
spectacle; a baby going to be baptized, if nothing else is to be had.
But to Hannah's humbled spirit and sinking heart, to carry that child up
that aisle under the fire of those eyes seemed like running a blockade
of righteous indignation that appeared to surround the altar. But she
did it. With downcast looks and hesitating steps she approached and
stood at the font--alone--the target of every pair of eyes in the
congregation. Only a moment she stood thus, when a countryman, with a
start, left one of the side benches and came and stood by her side.

It was Reuben Gray, who, standing by her, whispered:

"Hannah, woman, why didn't you let me know? I would have come and sat in
the pew with you and carried the child."

"Oh, Reuben, why will you mix yourself up with me and my miseries?"
sighed Hannah.

"'Cause we are one, my dear woman, and so I can't help it," murmured the
man.

There was no time for more words. The minister began the