lad of that."

"And I also."

Then she moved her seat, winding and bending on one side.

"What is it, my dear?" asked Betty.

"His shadow. It will follow me and fall over baby."

"What do you mean?"

Mehetabel made no reply, and the widow buried herself in preparation
for the midday meal, a very humble one of bread and weak tea.

"There's drippin' in the bowl," she said, "you can put some o' that
on the bread. And now, give me the little chap. You are not afraid
of trusting him to me?"

"Oh, no!"

The mother at once surrendered the child, and Mrs. Chivers sat by
the fire with the infant in her lap.

"He's very like you," she said.

"I couldn't love him if he were like him," said Mehetabel.

"You must not say that."

"He is a bad man."

"Leave God to judge him."

"He has judged him," answered the girl, looking vacantly into the
fire, and then passed her hand over her eyes and pressed her brow.

"Have you a headache, dear?"

"Yes--bad. It is his shadow has got in there--rolled up, and I can't
shake it out."

"Matabel--you must go to bed. You are not well."

"No--I am not well. But my baby?"

"He is safe with me."

"I am glad of that, you will teach him A B C, and the Creed, and to
pray to and fear God. But you needn't teach him to find Abelmeholah
on the map, nor how many gallons of water the Jordan carries into
the Dead Sea every minute, nor how many generations there are in
Matthew. That is all no good at all. Nor does it matter where is
the country of the Gergesenes. I have tried it. The Vicar was a
good man, was he not, Betty?"

"Yes, very good."

"He would give the coat off his back, and the bread out of his
mouth to the poor. He gave beef and plum pudding all around at
Christmas, and lent out blankets in winter. But he never gave
anything to the soul, did he, Betty? Never made the heart warm. I
found it so. What I got of good for that was from you."

"My dear," said the old woman, starting up. "I insist on your going
to bed at once. I see by your eye, by the fire in your cheek, that
you are ill."

"I will go to bed; I do not want anything to eat, only to lay my
head down, and then the shadow will run out at my ear--only I fear
it may stain the pillow. When I'm rich I will buy you another. Baby
is rich; he has got a hundred and fifty pounds. What is his is
mine, and what is mine is his. He will not grudge you a new
pillow-case."

Mehetabel, usually reserved and silent, had become