“I’ve come to see it all quite different, since I’ve talked with Mis’ Kinney,” said one young married woman, holding her baby close to her breast, and looking down with remorseful tenderness on its placid little face.  “I shan’t never feel that I’ve quite made it up to Benjy, never, for the thoughts I had about him before he was born.  I don’t see why nobody ever told us before, that we was just as much mothers to ’em from the very first as we ever could be,” and tears dropped on Benjy’s face; “an’ I jest hope the Lord’ll send me’s many more’s we can manage to feed’n clothe, ’n I’ll see if lovin’ ’em right along from the beginnin’, with all my heart, ’ll make ’em beautiful an’ happy an’ strong an’ well, ‘s Mis’ Kinney sez.  I b’lieve it’s much’s ef ’twas in the Bible, after all she told me, and read me out of a Physiology, an’ it stands to natur’, which’s more’n the old way o’ talkin did.”

This new, strong current of the divinest of truths, stirred the very veins of the village.  Mothers were more loving and fathers more tender, and maidens were sweeter and graver—­all for the coming of this one little babe into the bosom of full and inspired motherhood.

On the morning when Draxy’s son was born, a stranger passing through the village would have supposed that some great news of war or of politics had arrived.  Little knots of people stood at gates, on corners, all talking earnestly; others were walking rapidly to and fro in the street.  Excitement filled the air.

Never was heir to royal house more welcomed than was the first-born son of this simple-minded, great-hearted woman, by the lowly people among whom she dwelt.

Old Ike’s joy was more than he could manage.  He had sat on the floor all night long, with his head buried in his hands.

The instinct of grief to come, which not even all these long peaceful months had been able to wholly allay in his faithful heart, had sprung into full life at the first symptom of danger to Draxy.

“P’raps it’s this way, arter all, the Lord’s goin’ to do it.  O Lord!  O Lord!  It’ll kill Mr. Kinney, it’ll kill him,” he kept repeating over and over, as he rocked to and fro.  Hannah eyed him savagely.  Her Indian blood hated groans and tears, and her affection for her master was angered at the very thought of his being afflicted.

“I wish it had pleased yer Lord to give ye the sense of a man, Mr. Sanborn,” she said, “while He was a makin’ on ye.  If ye’d go to bed, now, instead o’ snivelin’ round here, you might be good for somethin’ in the mornin’, when there’ll be plenty to do.  Anyhow, I’m not goin’ to be pestered by the sight on ye any longer,” and Hannah banged the kitchen-door violently after her.

When poor Ike timidly peered into the sitting-room, whither she had betaken herself, he found her, too, sitting on the floor, in an attitude not unlike the one she had so scorned in him.  But he was too meek to taunt her.  He only said,—­