who, when in the afternoon they
hesitated in the choice of a drive, proposed Quarryville. Celia,
though in the least degree repelled, could find no reason for setting
aside the suggestion. But she regretted--yet again without good
reason, as she argued with herself--having permitted just the sort of
person this gifted and charming Mary Havens could not help being, to
be present at her trying-on with Miss Greene. They had no difficulty
in recognizing the house. The oleander stood beside the door-step in
the rough front yard, where common flowers and flourishing weeds made
about an even mixture. Among them toddled a child in a faded pink
slip. As Celia reined in the horse that they might pass slowly, Mary
Havens, before Celia knew what she intended, jumped out, and Celia saw
her in a moment more, down in the tall grass, scrutinizing the child's
face, and heard her foolish, eager chatter at him. Celia waited, with
a misleading effect of patience, looking off at the meadows on the
other side, in an unaccountable distaste, till she became aware of
Mary trying to find footing for the child in front of her knees.

"Look at him!" Mary said to her in an impressed tone, "Isn't he
_different_?"

Celia, in the supposition that any baby lifted off his feet by a
stranger would scream, had braced her nerves for the shock. But as she
looked at the child, she ceased to think of that, her displeasure with
Mary dispersed.

He was a being after her own heart, that was all,--exactly after
her own heart. She had not the general love of children common in
women, which seemed proof that this one who so captured her fancy
must have about him something extraordinary. He was so fair that
the sun to which he was indiscriminately exposed could not prevail
against his firm, uniform, healthy whiteness. He was large for his
small age,--for though he could walk, it was plain he could not yet
talk, or else he did not regard language as necessary, for not by
one sound did he depart from his self-possessed dumbness. The soilure
of the earth upon it could not make his splendid little face funny. A
straight-limbed, strong, calm, fearless, and somewhat solemn baby,
noble in size, noble in the whole effect of him, with just a touch
of something which melted the heart in his wide, sweet, steady,
unsmiling eyes and the drooping arch of his lip. We have described
him as he appeared to Celia.

"He looks like a king," she breathed, "or like a prophet!"

"Th