unclean.

"You will take this child?" said Mrs. Dinneford abruptly, as the woman
came into her presence.

"I have agreed to do so," she replied, looking toward Mrs. Bray.

"She is to have fifty dollars," said the nurse.

"And that is to be the last of it!" Mrs. Dinneford's face was pale, and
she spoke in a hard, husky voice.

Opening her purse, she took from it a small roll of bills, and as she
held out the money said, slowly and with a hard emphasis,

"You understand the terms. I do not know you--not even your name. I
don't wish to know you. For this consideration you take the child away.
That is the end of it between you and me. The child is your own as much
as if he were born to you, and you can do with him as you please. And
now go." Mrs. Dinneford waved her hand.

"His name?" queried the woman.

"He has no name!" Mrs. Dinneford stamped her foot in angry impatience.

The woman stooped down, and taking up the basket, tucked the covering
that had been laid over the baby close about its head, so that no one
could see what she carried, and went off without uttering another word.

It was some moments before either Mrs. Dinneford or the nurse spoke.
Mrs. Bray was first to break silence.

"All this means a great deal more than you have counted on," she said,
in a voice that betrayed some little feeling. "To throw a tender baby
out like that is a hard thing. I am afraid--"

"There, there! no more of that," returned Mrs. Dinneford, impatiently.
"It's ugly work, I own, but it had to be done--like cutting off a
diseased limb. He will die, of course, and the sooner it is over, the
better for him and every one else."

"He will have a hard struggle for life, poor little thing!" said the
nurse. "I would rather see him dead."

Mrs. Dinneford, now that this wicked and cruel deed was done, felt ill
at ease. She pushed the subject away, and tried to bury it out of sight
as we bury the dead, but did not find the task an easy one.

What followed the birth and removal of Edith's baby up to the time of
her return to reason after long struggle for life, has already been
told. Her demand to have her baby--"Oh, mother, bring me my baby!
I shall die if you do not!" and the answer, "Your baby is in
heaven!"--sent the feeble life-currents back again upon her heart. There
was another long period of oblivion, out of which she came very slowly,
her mind almost as much a blank as the mind of a child.

She had to learn again the