progress and looking sometimes out upon the hills where the purplish autumnal haze was lying just as she once loved to see it; but she did not heed it now, or care how bright the day with the flitting shadows dancing on the grass, the tall flowers growing by the door and old Whitey standing by the gate, his head stretched toward the house in a kind of dreamy, listening attitude, as if he, too, knew of the great sorrow hastening on so fast.  The others saw all this, and it made their hearts ache more as they thought of the beautiful little child, so much fairer than sky or day or flowers could be, going from their midst when they wished so much to keep her.  But Katy had only one idea, and that was of the child growing very restless now and throwing up its arms as if in pain.  It is striking five, and with each stroke the dying baby moans, while Katy strains her ear to catch another sound, the sound of horses’ hoofs hurrying up the road.  The clergyman has come and anon the inmates of the house gather around in silence, while he makes ready to receive the child into Christ’s flock, where it so soon will really be.

Mrs. Lennox had questioned Helen about the name and Helen had answered:  “Katy knows, I presume.  It does not matter,” but no one had spoken directly to Katy, who had scarcely given it a thought, caring more for the rite she had deferred so long.

“He must hasten,” she said to Morris, her eyes fixed upon the panting child she had lifted to her own lap, and thus abjured the clergyman failed to make the usual inquiry concerning the name he was to give.

Calm and white as a marble statue, Marian Hazelton glided to the back of Katy’s chair, pressing both her hands upon it, and leaning over Katy so that her eyes too were fixed upon the little face, from which they never turned but once, and that when the clergyman’s voice was heard asking for a name.  There was an instant’s silence, and Katy’s lips began to move, when one of Marian’s hands was laid upon her head, while the other took in its own the limp, while baby fingers, and Marian’s voice was very steady in its tone as it said:  “Genevra.”

“Yes, Genevra,” Katy whispered, and then the solemn words were heard:  “Genevra, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”

Softly the baptismal waters fell upon the pale forehead, and at their touch the little Genevra’s eyes unclosed, the waxen fingers withdrew themselves from Marian’s grasp, and again sought the mother’s cheek, resting there for an instant; while a smile broke around the baby lips, which tried to say “Mam-ma.”  Then the hand fell back, down upon Marian’s, the soft eyes closed, the limbs grew rigid, the shadow of death grew deeper, and while the prayer was said, and Marian’s tears fell with Katy’s upon the brow where the baptismal waters were not dried, the angel came, and when the prayer was ended, Morris, who knew what the rest did not, took the lifeless form from Katy’s lap, and whispered to her gently:  “Katy, your baby is dead!”