He thought he heard a sob borne on the night air as he stood in the door-way clutching the burden imposed upon him.  But perhaps it was only the wailing of the wind he heard.  He was too dazed to be sure of himself as he stood there peering forth into the night, expecting some one to enter, or at least to speak and explain the meaning of this strange behaviour.  But none of these things happened, so, still bewildered, he closed the door with his foot and made his way back into the living-room.

“Daniel, Daniel! what are you standing there in the draught for?” his wife remonstrated.  “You will get your death of cold.”

She ceased abruptly, however, when she saw her husband enter with the strange bundle in his arms.

“What is it?” she gasped, rising quickly to her feet.

“Don’t know,” was the reply.  “It’s alive, anyway, whatever it is, for it’s beginning to wriggle.  Here, take it.”

But Mrs. Royal shrank back, and raised her hands as if to protect herself.

“It won’t hurt you, dear.  What are you afraid of?”

“But it’s alive, you say.  It might not be safe to have it in the house.  Where did it come from?”

Before a reply could be given, the bundle gave a vigorous twist, while a muffled squeal came from beneath the clothes, which almost caused the parson to drop his burden upon the floor.  But that sound stirred Mrs. Royal to immediate action.  No longer did she hesitate, but stepping forward relieved her husband of his charge.

“It is a baby!” she cried, at the same time drawing aside the shawl and exposing the chubby face of a child nestling within.  A pair of bright blue eyes looked up into hers, and a queer little chuckle of delight came from the small rose-bud of a mouth.  So pleased was it to have its face uncovered, that it performed the rest of the job itself, and by means of a few strenuous kicks disengaged its feet from their covering and stuck them straight up into the air.

“Bless its little heart!” was Mrs. Royal’s motherly comment.  “It is going to make itself at home, anyway.”

Seating herself before the fire, she laid aside the shawl and straightened out the baby’s mussed garments.  They were clothes of the plainest, but spotlessly clean.

Parson Dan stood watching his wife with much interest.  This little waif of the night appealed to him in a remarkable manner.

“Who do you suppose left it here?” he at last asked.  “It is no child of this parish, I feel quite sure of that.”

“Perhaps it was an angel who did it,” Mrs. Royal replied.  “It may be that the good Lord has taken compassion upon our loneliness since we lost Alec and has given us this in his stead.”

“No, I cannot believe that, Martha.  I do not for a moment doubt that such a thing is possible, oh, no.  But that old shawl and those plain clothes do not look much like heavenly robes, do they?  I think that the hands which made that little white dress were human hands such as ours, and the sob which I heard to-night was not the sob of an angel but of a heart-broken mother.”