“Really?” Julia whispered.  “You wouldn’t—­fool me?”

“Listen to her!” Miss Wheaton said.  “Now, my dear, don’t you be nervous.  You’ve got a perfectly lovely little girl, and you’ve come through splendidly, and everything’s fine.  If you want to go look at that baby, Doctor,” she added, “ask Doctor Studdiford to send Ellie in here to me and we’ll straighten this all out.  Then we can let him in here to see this young lady!”

Presently Jim came in, to kneel beside Julia’s bed, and gather her little limp hands to his lips, and murmur incoherent praise of his brave girl, his darling little mother, his little old sweetheart, dearer than a thousand babies.  Julia heard him dreamily, raised languid eyes, and after a little while stroked his hair.  She was spent, exhausted, hammered by the agony of a few short hours into this pale ghost of herself, and he was strong and well, the red blood running confident and audacious in his veins.  Their spirits could not meet to-night.  But she loved his praise, loved to feel his cheek wet against her hand, and she began to be glad it was all over, that peace at last had found the big pleasant room, where firelight and the last soft brightness of the June day mingled so pleasantly on rosy wall paper and rosy curtains.

“She’s a little darling,” said Jim.  “Mother says she’s the prettiest tiny baby she ever saw.  Poor Aunt Sanna and Mother had a great old cry together!”

“Ah!” said Julia hungrily.  For Miss Toland had come stepping carefully in, the precious pink blanket in her arms.

“I’m to bring her to say ‘Good-night’ to her mother!” said Miss Toland.  “How are you, dear?  All forgotten now?”

The pink miracle was laid beside Julia; she shifted her sore body just a trifle to make room, and spread weak fingers to raise the blanket from the baby’s face.  A little crumpled rose leaf of a face, a shock of soft black hair, and two tiny hands that curved warmly against Julia’s investigating finger.  All the rest was delicate lawn and soft wool.

The baby wrinkled her little countenance, her tiny mouth opened, and Julia heard for the first time her daughter’s rasping, despairing, bitter little cry.  A passion of ecstasy flooded her heart; she dropped her soft pale cheek close to the little creased one.

“Oh, my darling, my darling!” she breathed.  “Oh, you little perfect, helpless, innocent thing!  Oh, Jim, she’s crying, the angel!  Oh, I do thank God for her!” she ended softly.

“I thank God you’re so well,” said Miss Toland.  “Here, you can’t keep her!”

“Anna, go with Aunt Sanna,” Julia said weakly.

“Anna, eh?” Miss Toland said, wrapping up the pink blanket.

“Anna Toland Studdiford,” Jim answered.  “Julia had that all fixed up weeks ago!”

“Well—­now—­you children!” Miss Toland said, looking from one to the other, with her half-vexed and half-approving laugh.  “What do you want to name her that for?”