it would be best to send his child away.

"Miss Hazelton is ready any time, and so I decided upon the day after
to-morrow--that will be Saturday--thus giving Katy the benefit of Sunday
in which to get over it and recover her usual spirits."

"You are sure it is right?" Wilford asked, for now that the time drew
near when the little crib at home would be empty, the nursery desolate,
with no fretful, plaintive wail to annoy and worry him, he began to feel
that after all that cry was not so very vexing as he had imagined it to
be; that he might miss it when it was gone, and wish back the little
creature which had been so greatly in his way.

Besides this, there was a sense of injustice to Katy. Perhaps he had not
been considerate enough of her feelings; at all events, his mother's
arranging the time of baby's departure looked like ignoring Katy
altogether, and he ventured a remonstrance. But his mother soon
convinced him of her infallible judgment; not only in that matter, but
in all others pertaining to his household; and so with his good opinion
of himself restored, he went home to where Katy waited for him, with her
baby in her lap, both tastefully attired, and making a most lovely
picture. Wilford kissed them both, and took his daughter in his arms, an
act he had not often been guilty of, for baby tending was not altogether
to his taste.

In the dark hours of agony which came to him afterward, he remembered
that night, feeling again the touch of the velvet cheek and the warmth
of the faint breath which floated across his face as he held his little
girl for a moment to it, laughing at Katy's distress because "his
whiskers scratched it."

It was strange how much confidence Katy had in Marian Hazelton, and how
the fact that she was going to New London reconciled her to the plan,
making her even cheerful during the last day of baby's stay at home. But
as the daylight waned and the night came on, a shadow began to steal
across her sunny face, and her step was slower as it went up the stairs
to the nursery, while only herself that night could disrobe the little
creature and hush it into sleep.

"'Tis the last time, you know," she said to Kirby, who readily yielded
her post and went out, leaving the young mother and child alone.

Mournfully sad and sweet was the lullaby Katy sang, and Helen, in the
hall, listening to the low, sad moaning, half prayer, half benediction,
likened it to a farewell between the living and the