of her
hair and wrenched till the tears of pain rushed to her eyes. She
unclasped the little talons, ran to the wash-stand, took up an ugly
bottle and poured out enough to put an end to that nauseating wail.

She bent over to lift the baby to the glass. Its lips touched her bosom.
Its crying turned to a little chortle like a brook's music. It pommeled
her with hands like white roses. The moon rested on its little head and
made its fuzz of hair a halo. She paused, adoring it sacredly like
another Madonna.

A soft tap at the door. She put the fatal glass away and turned
guiltily. A dark little woman was there, and a soft, motherly voice
spoke. It must be Mrs. Braywood's. She could not have suspected, for her
tone was all of affection.

"I heard your child laughing, my dear--and crying. I don't know which
went to my heart deeper. I just had to come to see it. It is so
marvelous to be a mother. I've been married for ten years, and my
husband and I have prayed and waited. But God would not send us a baby.
He saved that honor for you. And such an honor and glory and power! To
be a mother! To be a rose-bush and have a white bud grow upon your stem,
and bloom! Oh, you lucky child, to be selected for such a privilege! You
must have suffered; you must be suffering now; but there's nothing worth
while that doesn't cost pain.

"It occurred to me that--don't misunderstand me, my child, but--well,
the landlady said you were poor; she was in doubt of the room rent; so
I thought--perhaps you might not want the baby as much as I do.

"I hoped you might let me take him. I'd be such a good mother to him.
I'd love him as if he were my own, and my husband would pay you well for
him. We'd give him our own name, and people should never know that
he--that you--that we weren't really his parents. Give him to me, won't
you? Please! I beg you!"

Hilda whirled away from her pleading hands and clenched the baby so hard
that it cried a little. The sound was like that first wail of his she
had ever heard. Again it went into her heart like a little hand seizing
and wringing it.

Mrs. Braywood--if it were Mrs. Braywood--was not angry at the rebuff,
though she was plainly disheartened. She tried to be brave, and sighed.

"Oh, I don't wonder you turn away. I understand. I wouldn't give him up
if I were in your place. The father must come soon. He won't stay away
long. Just let him see the baby and hear its voice and know it is his
baby, and he