“But really and indeed, miss, you are too kind.  I cannot think of accepting all these good things from you.”

“Mattie, arrange all those pots, jars, and bottles on the mantel shelf, until somebody comes to take them away,” said Claudia, without paying the least attention to Hannah’s remonstrances.

When this order was also obeyed, and Mattie stood with both baskets on her arms, waiting for further instructions, Miss Merlin arose, saying: 

“And now, Mrs. Gray, I must bid you good-afternoon.  I cannot keep papa waiting dinner for me.  But I will come to see you again to-morrow, if you will allow me to do so.”

“Miss Merlin, I should be proud and happy to see you as often as you think fit to come.”

“And, mind, I am to stand god-mother to the twins.”

“Certainly, miss, if you please to do so.”

“By the way, what is to be their names?”

“John and Mary, miss—­after Reuben’s father and my mother.”

“Very well; I will be spiritually responsible for John and Mary!  Good-by, Mrs. Gray.”

“Good-by, and thank you, Miss Merlin.”

Claudia shook hands and departed.  She had scarcely got beyond the threshold of the chamber door when she heard the voice of Hannah calling her back: 

“Miss Merlin!”

Claudia returned.

“I beg your pardon, miss; but I hear my nephew, Ishmael Worth, is up at the house, doing something for the judge.”

“He is up there,” answered Claudia evasively.

“Well, do pray tell him, my dear Miss Merlin, if you please, that I want to see him as soon as he can possibly get home.  Oh!  I beg your pardon a thousand times for taking the liberty of asking you, miss.”

“I will tell him,” said Claudia, smiling and retiring.

When Miss Merlin had gone Hannah stooped and contemplated her own two children with a mother’s insatiable pride and love.  Suddenly she burst into penitential tears and wept.

Why?

She was gazing upon her own two fine, healthy, handsome babies, that were so much admired, so well beloved, and so tenderly cared for; and she was remembering little Ishmael in his poor orphaned infancy—­so pale, thin, and sickly, so disliked, avoided, and neglected!  At this remembrance her penitent heart melted in remorseful tenderness.  The advent of her own children had shown to Hannah by retrospective action all the cruelty and hardness of heart she had once felt and shown towards Ishmael.

“But I will make it all up to him—­poor, dear boy!  I will make it all up to him in the future!  Oh, how hard my heart was towards him! as if he could have helped being born, poor fellow!  How badly I treated him!  Suppose now, as a punishment for my sin, I was to die and leave my babes to be despised, neglected, and wished dead by them as had the care of ’em!  How would I feel? although my children are so much healthier and stronger, and better able to bear neglect than ever Ishmael was, poor, poor fellow!  It is a wonder he ever lived through it all.  Surely, only God sustained him, for he was bereft of nearly all human help.  Oh, Nora!  Nora!  I never did my duty to your boy; but I will do it now, if God will only forgive and spare me for the work!” concluded Hannah, as she raised both her own children to her lap.