e shock it would be to
see Katy's child, and hold it in his arms, as he knew he must, or the
mother be aggrieved.

He had supposed it was pretty, but he was not prepared for the beautiful
little cherub which in its short white dress, with its soft curls of
golden brown clustering about its head, stood holding to a chair,
pushing it occasionally, and venturing now and then to take a step,
while its infantile laugh mingled with the screams of its delighted
auditors, watching it with so much interest.

There was one great, bitter, burning pang, a blur before his eyes, and
then, folding his arms composedly upon the window sill, Dr. Grant stood
looking in upon the occupants of the room, whistling at last to baby, as
he was accustomed to whistle to the children of his patients.

"Oh, Morris," Katy cried, "baby can almost walk, Marian has taken so
much pains, and she can say 'papa.' Isn't she a beauty?"

Baby had turned her head by this time, her ear caught by the whistle and
her eye arrested by something in Morris which fascinated her gaze.
Perhaps she thought of Wilford, of whom she had been very fond, for she
pushed her chair toward him and then held up her fat, creasy arms for
him to take her. Morris was fond of children and took the infant at
once, strained it to his bosom with a passionate caress, which seemed to
have in it something of the love he bore the mother, who went off into
ecstasies of joy when baby, attacking Morris' hair and patting softly
his cheek, tried to kiss him as it had been taught by Marian. Never was
mother prouder, happier than Katy during the first few days succeeding
baby's arrival, while the family seemed to tread on air, so swiftly the
time went by with that active little life in their midst, stirring them
up so constantly, putting to rout all their rules of order and keeping
their house in a state of delightful confusion.

It was wonderful how rapidly the child improved with so many teachers,
learning to lisp its mother's name and taught by her attempting to say
"Doctor." From the very first the child took to Morris, crying after him
whenever he went away, and hailing his arrival with a crow of joy and an
eager attempt to reach him.

"It was altogether too forward for this world," Aunt Betsy often said,
shaking her head ominously, but not really meaning what she predicted,
even when for a few days it did not seem as bright as usual, but lay
quietly in Katy's lap, a blue look about the mo