favours no one but thisel. Look
at its yure (hair), bless it!' And old Deborah stooped over it and
wept. Wept--which she had never done since her girlhood's days.

But Matt's eyes were fixed on Miriam, until she, breaking through
the orders of the doctor, said:

'Matt, do look at th' baby--it's thine, thaa knows.'

And then Matt looked at the baby. For the first time in his life
he looked at a new-born baby, and at a baby to whom he was linked
by ties of paternity, and his heart went out towards the little
palpitating prophecy of life--so long expected, and perfected at
such a price. And he took it in his arms, while old Deborah said:

'Thaa sees, lad, God's not forgetten to be gracious. Th' promise
is still to us and aars.'

But Malachi's wife sent Matt downstairs, saying:

'We'n had enugh preachin' and cryin'. Go and ged on wi' thi wark.
Th' lass is on th' mend, and hoo'll do gradely weel.'

IV.

THE LEAD OF THE LITTLE ONE.

The child grew, and its first conquest was the heart of old
Deborah. Before the little life she bowed, and what her
Calvinistic creed was weak to do for her, a love for her grandson
accomplished. Often and long would she look into his face as he
lay in her arms, until at last she, too, caught the child-feature
and the child-smile. Rehoboth said old Deborah was renewing her
youth; for she had been known to laugh and croon, and more than
once purse up her old lips to sing a snatch of nursery rhyme--a
thing which in the past she had denounced as tending to 'mak'
childer hush't wi' th' songs o' sin.' The hard look died away from
her eyes, and her mouth ceased to wear its sealed and drawn
expression. The voice, too, became low and mellow, and her
religion, instead of being that of the Church, was now that of the
home.

One morning, while carrying the child through the meadows, she was
overtaken by Amos Entwistle, who stopped her, saying:

'Tak' care, Deborah, tak' care, or the Almeety will overthrow thi
idol. Thaa'rt settin' thi affections on things o' th' earth; and
He'll punish thee for it.'

'An' do yo' co this babby one o' th' things o' th' earth?' cried
the old woman fiercely.

'Yi, forsure I do. What else mut it be?'

'Look yo' here, Amos,' said Deborah, raising the child in her arms
so that her rebuker might look into its little features, ruddy and
reposeful--features where God's fresh touch still lingered; 'luk
yo' here. Han yo' never yerd that childer's angels awlus b