some natures are. It's lucky I didn't get as far as what you would
call the real telling arguments."

If Susan Fitzgerald's mood was despondent, as she reviewed the
activities of the day, such was not the case with Persis Dale. In the
Trotters' shabby cottage, exaltation reigned. Young Doctor Ballard,
lean and boyish, looked ready to be congratulated on a good piece of
work, though perfectly aware ha could never in this world, at least,
collect his fee for medical attendance. Bartholomew's complacent
self-importance almost straightened his bowed shoulders and redeemed
the weakness of his sagging lips and feeble chin. Lizzie, his wife,
spent and pallid, her gaunt temples hollowed and her face chiseled by
suffering, smiled contentedly as she lay against her pillow, a creature
lifted for the moment above the petty weaknesses, pitiable fruit of
life-long and grinding poverty, by the gracious dignity of motherhood.
As for Persis, as she carried the new arrival down-stairs to make the
acquaintance of his brothers and sisters, her comely face was radiant.
Weariness was forgotten. The hours of uncertainty, the long hours when
Life and Death matched forces in that old duel renewed with each new
existence, had all been forgotten. For a man was born.

The little Trotters gathered around in an ecstasy of pleasure and
surprise. In a household where food was scanty, and every new pair of
shoes was a serious economic problem, there was no lack of welcome for
the newcomer. Chirpy little voices commented on the new brother's
surprising pinkness, his diminutive proportions and his belligerent
fashion of clenching his fists.

"He's got on the nice clean dress the angels made him," said Winnie,
the observant. "See the lace in the sleeves."

"I wish the angels had made him some hair instead," suggested Wilbur,
plainly aggrieved. "'Cause he could have worn some of our old clothes,
but he can't wear our hair."

"He can have my jack-knife when he gets big enough," declared Benny,
the oldest of the flock. He drew the cherished possession from his
pocket as if ready to surrender it on the instant. And that offer was
a signal for a general outburst of generosity.

"He can have my tooth brush."

"I'll give him my rubber boot. Maybe when he's big enough to wear it,
somebody will give him one for the other leg."

"You're going to let the new baby have your high chair, ain't you,
Essie?" Thus Winnie prompted the sister now co