l! 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 o