is whole form quivering with
anguish as he cried, "Oh, ma! ma! ma! ma!"

The hardest heart could scarce withstand that scene, and many now
gathered near, offering advice and help, while even Dr. Richards turned
toward the group gathering by the door, experiencing a most
unaccountable sensation as that baby cry smote on his ear. Foremost
among those who offered aid was Irving Stanley. His was the voice which
breathed comfort to the weeping Adah, his the hand extended to take up
little Willie, his the arms which held and soothed the struggling boy,
his the mind which thought of everything available that could possibly
bring ease.

"Who'll give me a cigar? I do not use them myself. Ask him," he said,
pointing to the doctor, who mechanically took a fine Havana from the
case and half-grudgingly handed it to the lady, who hurried back with it
to Irving Stanley.

To break it up and place it in Willie's ear was the work of a moment,
and ere long the fierce outcries ceased as Willie grew easier and lay
quietly in Irving Stanley's arms.

"I'll take him now," and Adah put out her hands; but Willie refused to
go, and clung closer to Mr. Stanley, who said, laughingly: "You see that
I am preferred. He is too heavy for you to hold. Please trust him to me,
while you get the rest you need."

And Adah yielded to that voice as if it were one which had a right to
say what she must do, and leaning back against the window, rested her
tired head upon her hand, while Irving carried Willie to his seat beside
the doctor! There was a slight sneer on the doctor's face as he saw the
little boy.

"You don't like children, I reckon," Irving said, as the doctor drew
back from the little feet which unconsciously touched his lap.

"No, I hate them," was the answer, spoken half-savagely, for at that
moment a tiny hand was deliberately laid on his, as Willie showed a
disposition to be friendly. "I hate them," and the little hand was
pushed rudely off.

Wonderingly the soft, large eyes of the child looked up to his.
Something in their expression riveted the doctor's gaze as by a spell.
There were tears in the baby's eyes, and the pretty lip began to quiver
at the harsh indignity. The doctor's finer feelings, if he had any, were
touched, and muttering to himself, "I'm a brute," he slouched his riding
cap still lower down upon his forehead, and turning away to the window,
relapsed into a gloomy reverie.

As they drew near to Albany, another pierc