--of
boundless experience. Her hair hung in wavy dishevelment about her head
and shoulders, and she clung passionately to the child in her arms.

The Scotch Preacher had said, "Well--Anna?" She looked up and replied:

"They were going to take my baby away."

"Were they!" exclaimed McAlway in his hearty voice. "Well, we'll never
permit _that_. Who's got a better right to the baby than you, I'd like
to know?"

Without turning her head, the tears came to her eyes and rolled
unheeded down her face.

* * * * *

"Yes, sir, Dr. McAlway," the man said, "I was coming across the bridge
with the cows when I see her standing there in the water, her skirts all
floating around her. She was hugging the baby up to her face and saying
over and over, just like this: 'I don't dare! Oh, I don't dare! But I
must. I must,' She was sort of singin' the words: 'I don't dare, I don't
dare, but I must.' I jumped the railing and run down to the bank of the
river. And I says, 'Come right out o' there'; and she turned and come
out just as gentle as a child, and I brought her up here to the house."

* * * * *

It seemed perfectly natural at this time that I should take the girl and
her child home to Harriet. She would not go back to her own home, though
we tried to persuade her, and the Scotch Preacher's wife was visiting in
the city, so she could not go there. But after I found myself driving
homeward with the girl--while McAlway went over the hill to tell her
family--the mood of action passed. It struck me suddenly, "What will
Harriet say?" Upon which my heart sank curiously, and refused to resume
its natural position.

In the past I had brought her tramps and peddlers and itinerant
preachers, all of whom she had taken in with patience--but this, I knew,
was different. For a few minutes I wished devoutly I were in Timbuctu or
some other far place. And then the absurdity of the situation struck me
all at once, and I couldn't help laughing aloud.

"It's a tremendous old world," I said to myself. "Why, anything may
happen anywhere!"

The girl stirred, but did not speak. I was afraid I had frightened her.

"Are you cold?" I asked.

"No, sir," she answered faintly.

I could think of nothing whatever to say, so I said it:

"Are you fond of hot corn-meal mush?"

"Yes, sir," very faintly.

"With cream on it--rich yellow cream--and plenty of sugar?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I