responsibility
and self-respect. She had, it is true, dreaded the coming of these
children, but from the moment that the two cold, subdued little figures
had looked in doubting amazement at the four kinds of preserves and three
kinds of cake set out for their first collation in the new home, she had
rejoiced unceasingly in a vicarious motherhood.

Within an hour after breakfast the morning's find had been examined,
appraised, and accorded perpetual rank by merit. Grandfather Delcher made
but one timid effort to influence decisions.

"Now, Bernal, which do you like best of all your presents?" he asked. With
a heart too full for words the littler boy had pointed promptly but shyly
at his candy cane. Not once, indeed, had he been able to say the words
"candy cane." It was a creation which mere words were inadequate to name.
It was a presence to be pointed at. He pointed again firmly when the old
man asked, "Are you quite certain, now, you like it best of
all?"--suggestively--"better than this fine book with this beautiful
picture of Joseph being sold away by his wicked brothers?"

The questioner had turned then to the older boy, who tactfully divined
that a different answer would have pleased the old man better.

"And what do you like best, Allan?"

"Oh, I like this fine and splendid book best of all!"--and he read from
the title-page, in the clear, confident tones of the pupil who knows that
the teacher's favour rests upon him--"'From Eden to Calvary; or through
the Bible in a year with our boys and girls; a book of pleasure and profit
for young persons on Sabbath Afternoon. By Grandpa Silas Atterbury, the
well-known author and writer for young people."

His glance toward his brother at the close was meant to betray the
consciousness of his own superiority to one who dallied sensuously with
created objects.

But the unspiritual one was riding the new horse at a furious gallop, and
the glance of reproof was unnoted save by the old man--who wondered if it
might be by any absurd twist that the boy most like the godless father
were more godly than the one so like his mother that every note of his
little voice and every full glance of his big blue eyes made the old heart
flutter.

In the afternoon came callers from the next house; Dr. Crealock, rubicund
and portly, leaning on his cane, to pass the word of seasonable cheer with
his old friend and pastor; and with him his tiny niece to greet the
grandchildren of his fri