f her
mind, she sprang to Morris' side and seizing his arm, demanded: "Can an
unbaptized child be saved?"

"We nowhere read that baptism is a saving ordinance," was Morris'
answer; while Katy continued: "But do you believe they will be saved?"

"Yes, I do," was the decided response, which, however, did not ease
Katy's mind, and she moaned on: "A child of heathen parents may, but I
knew better, I knew it was my duty to give the child to God, and for a
foolish fancy withheld the gift until it is too late, and God will take
it without the mark upon its forehead, the water on its brow. Oh, baby,
baby, if she should be lost--no name, no mark, no baptismal sign."

"Not water, but the blood of Jesus cleanseth from all sin," Morris said,
"and as sure as he died so sure this little one is safe. Besides that,
there may be time for the baptism yet--that is, to-morrow. Baby will not
die to-night, and if you like, it still shall have a name."

Eagerly Katy seized upon that idea, thinking more of the sign, the
water, than the name, which scarcely occupied her thoughts at all. It
did not matter what the child was called, so that it became one of the
little ones in glory, and with a calmer, quieter demeanor than she had
shown that day she saw Morris depart at a late hour; and then turning to
the child which Uncle Ephraim now was holding, kissed it lovingly,
whispering as she did so: "Baby shall be baptized--baby shall have the
sign."

CHAPTER XXXII.

LITTLE GENEVRA.

Morris had telegraphed to New York, receiving in reply that Wilford was
hourly expected home, and would at once hasten on to Silverton. The
clergyman, Mr. Kelly, had also been seen, but owing to a funeral which
would take him out of town, he could not be at the farmhouse until five
in the afternoon, when, if the child still lived, he would be glad to
officiate as requested. All this Morris had communicated to Katy, who
listened in a kind of stupor, gasping for breath, when she heard that
Wilford would so soon be there, and moaning "that will be too late,"
when told that the baptism could not take place till night. Then,
kneeling by the crib where the child was lying, she fastened her great,
sad blue eyes upon the pallid face with an earnestness as if thus she
would hold till nightfall the life flickering so faintly and seeming so
nearly finished. The wailings had ceased, and they no longer carried it
within their arms, but had placed it in its crib, where i