work with
valor, and served it with the best of her eye and hand. The life of
_just-woman_, she had wanted more, and idealized as only an artist
can--to be a man's maiden, a man's mate and the mother of his babes,
but this was not for her. The man had come, and she had turned him
away. _Just-woman_ would have held him fast. Yes, it was the artist
that had faltered at the right moment--the resolute creative force
within her, weathered in suffering, not to be intimidated, slow,
tragically slow to bow down.... A little Salvation band passed below:

Joy to the world,
The Lord is Come

Eight notes of the descending scale sounded mightily from drum and
cornet....

* * * * *

Bedient was coming this morning. He had asked to, the night before;
asked if he might come early.... What a morning for bleak December! She
went to the window. Islands of rose and lily were softly blooming in
the lakes of Eastern light. Heaven was building in the East--its spires
to rise unto high noon....

His step was on the stair. Beth hurried to the door. She saw his
strange smile, and the bundle in his arms.

"I thought you would like to play with him for a while," he said. "He's
a wonderfully blessed little boy.... You really had to see him----"

Beth had taken the babe to a far corner--and rushed to shut the window.
Now, she bent over the coverings.

"I have always wanted to see you, just like that," Bedient added. "...I
know the little boy's story.... He is amazingly rich--they both gave
him the blue flower. He is love-essence.... May I leave him a little
while, until I get some other things?"

Out of the fervent heat--he had come. Beth looked up. Bedient had drawn
back to the door. Light from the hidden sun was in the room.... He was
gone.

Beth did not yet know the babe's story. Some dying woman's love-child,
she thought.... She would give him her years--to make him brave and
beautiful. It would be her gift to the world--her greatest
painting--and the little child would name it _Mother_.

"He means me to have it!" she murmured. "I think this has been
struggling to get into my heart for years--the child of some woman who
has kissed and died for it! ... I think--I think this is the end of the
fiery waiting.... Little boy, you shall heal the broken dreams, and I
shall read in your eyes--the world-secret which aches so heavily in the
breasts of women."

* * * *