“Why, Cordelia!” whispered Miss Patty, who had been nodding throughout this confession.  “That’s exactly how I feel about it, too!”

It wasn’t long after that before they began to look up names.

“If Josiah wasn’t such a family name,” said Miss Cordelia, “I’d like to call him Basil.  That means kingly or royal.”  Then of course they turned to Cordelia.  Cordelia meant warm-hearted.  Patricia meant royal.  Martha meant the ruler of the house.

They were pleased at these revelations.

The week before the great event was expected, Martha had a notion one day.  She wished to visit the factory.  Josiah interpreted this as the happiest of auguries.

“After seven generations,” was his cryptic remark, “you simply can’t keep them away.  It’s bred in the bone....”

He drove Martha down to the works himself, and took her through the various shops, some of which were of such a length that when you stood at one end, the other seemed to vanish into distance.

Everything went well until they reached the shipping room where a travelling crane was rolling on its tracks overhead, carrying a load of boxes.  This crane was hurrying back empty for another load, its chain and tackle swinging low, when Martha started across the room to look at one of the boys who had caught his thumb between a hammer and a nail and was trying to bind it with his handkerchief.  The next moment the swinging tackle of the crane struck poor Martha in the back, caught in her dress and dragged her for a few horrible yards along the floor.

That night the house on the hill had two unexpected visitors, the Angel of Death following quickly in the footsteps of the Angel of Life.

“You poor motherless little thing,” breathed Cordelia, cuddling the baby in her arms.  “Look, Josiah,” she said, trying to rouse her brother.  “Look ...it’s smiling at you—­”

But Josiah looked up with haggard eyes that saw nothing, and could only repeat the sentence which he had been whispering to himself, “It’s God’s own punishment—­God’s own punishment—­there are things—­I can’t tell you—­”

The doctor came to him at last and, after he was quieter, the two sisters went away, carrying their precious burden with them.

“Wasn’t there a girl’s name which means bitterness?” asked Miss Cordelia, suddenly stopping.

“Yes,” said Miss Patty.  “That’s what ‘Mary’ means.”

The two sisters looked at each other earnestly—­looked at each other and nodded.

“We’ll call her ‘Mary’ then,” said Miss Cordelia.

And that is how my heroine got her name.

CHAPTER IV

I wish I had time to tell you in the fulness of detail how those two spinsters brought up Mary, but there is so much else to put before you that I dare not dally here.  Still, I am going to find time to say that all the love and affection which Miss Cordelia and Miss Patty had ever woven into their fancies were now showered down upon Mary—­falling softly and sweetly like petals from two full-blown roses when stirred by a breeze from the south.