lleys over the slippery road. The
blacks' cabin was empty, and I hid it on the bed."

"God! A white child! And you did this thing!"

The man of the house for a moment faced his wife as judge.

"Yes," she answered, looking full into his stern face. "I left it there.
And I was right, I was right! You wanted to do something to hide the
disgrace. You said you did, you and the doctor both. But you talked and
talked, and sat here by the fire. Well, something is done now. We've
saved our daughter from disgrace. Let the baby begin an outcast. It's
better than becoming one at eighteen."

Then of a sudden her strength left her, and she fell, sobbing, into a
chair.

"You'll tell her, George?" she asked after a few moments. "She will know
it's for the best. But you are so quiet and gentle, and she must have no
shock."

"Yes," he answered slowly, "she must have no shock, but she will mind
very much. If she cries bitterly, may I bring it back?"

"No, no!" His wife faced him in arms again. And then, more quietly, "For
her sake, no."

"For her sake," he repeated to himself, and left the room.

As he walked up the stairs a great dog rose from where it lay in the
hallway and, following, rubbed his nose in his master's hand.

"Go back!" he commanded as he reached the door of the south room.
"Likely you'll be a comfort later, but go back now."

He went to the side of the bed and found his daughter lying, her eyes
wide open, looking out on the rain. He laid his hand gently upon her
head and she drew it down and kissed it. She had always known that he
would never fail her in his tender sympathy.

"The baby has slept a long time," she whispered. "Bring it to me,
please."

He stooped and kissed her.

"It's a little girl, and it looks like you. It does truly."

He stroked her forehead again, but did not speak.

She roused herself and turned her head toward the dark corner of the
room. "Bring it to me, mammy!" she called.

The old woman walked to the cradle and made as though to lift a child
from the blankets, but her arms were empty.

"Bring it to me!"

"Lillias!" her father was at her side where she sat erect staring at the
cradle. "Lillias, darling, your mother thought it best."

"Bring it to me!"

The old woman drew aside the blankets and showed an empty bed. "Chile,"
she moaned, "dis ain't my work."

There was a long silence; then the girl sank back in the sheets and
turned toward the window. "You might have let