Her bosom was too full. Tears sparkled
in her eyes, and ran down her cheeks. The glow of the peat and wood
fire was on her face, and gave to it a color it did not in reality
possess. She tried to say something, but her voice gave way. Half
laughing in the midst of tears she stammered, "You are good to me,
Iver."

He took the stool and drew it before the fire that he might look
up into her agitated face.

"How have you come?" asked he.

"I walked."

"Where from--not Kingston?"

"Oh, no! only from Gorlmyn."

"But that is a long way. And did you carry the child?"

"Yes, Iver! But, oh! he is no weight. You have not seen him. Look
at him. He is quiet now, but he has been very troublesome; not
that he could help it, but he has been unwell." With the pride and
love of a mother she unfolded the wraps that concealed her sleeping
child, and laid it on her knees. The dancing light fell over it.

Iver drew his stool near, and looked at the infant.

"I am no judge of babies," he said, "but--it is very small."

"It is small, that is why I can carry him. The best goods are
wrapped in the smallest parcels."

"The child looks very delicate--ill, I should say."

"Oh, no! it has been ill, but is much, much better now. How could
even a strong child stand all that my precious one has had to go
through without suffering? But that is over now. Now at length we
shall have rest and happiness, baby and me, in each other." Then
catching the child to her heart, she rocked herself, and with
tears of love flowing, sang--

"Thou art my sceptre, crown and all."

She laid the child again on her lap and sat looking at it admiringly
in the rosy light of the fire that suffused it. As the flames had
given to her cheek a fictitious color, so did they now give to the
infant a glow as of health that it did not actually possess.

"You must be tired," said Iver.

"I am tired; see how my limbs shake. That is why my baby trembles;
but as for my arms, they are past tiredness, they are just one
dead ache from the shoulder to the wrist."

"Are you hungry, Matabel?"

"Oh, no! All I want is rest, rest. I am weary."

Presently she asked, "Where is father?"

"He is away. Gone to the Dye House to see a cow that is bad. They
sent for him, to have his opinion. Father is thought a great
authority on cows."

"And Polly?"

"Oh! Polly," laughed Iver, "she's bundled off. Father has borne it
like a philosopher. I believe in his heart he is rather