all that the child had been doing and all the noise that he had
been making before were simply nothing to what he had been doing ever
since Mrs. O'Brien first said the word "christen." He was screaming so
that all this talk could scarcely be heard, and it was almost more
than Mrs. O'Brien could do to hold him, when she took him in her arms.
But she did hold him for a moment with one arm, while she dipped up
some water with her hand and sprinkled it over him. Then the creature
gave one great jump and was away from her and fell on the floor.

Before anybody else could move, Mrs. O'Brien herself picked him up and
laid him on the bed. There was no sign that he was hurt. No child that
was hurt could have screamed as he did. "Come, John," said Mrs.
O'Brien, "we've done all that we can."

"May I walk back with you a piece?" said Peter. "There was something
more that I was thinking I would say."

"Come back with us, of course, and welcome," said John.

They left the house and walked along the street.

"I think it was right, what you done, Mrs. O'Brien," said Peter. "I
can't think about the child the way you think, but it was right what
you done."

Mrs. O'Brien made no answer. "John," said Peter, "there's something
that I was thinking of last night and this morning, and it was this:
You have a girl and I have a boy, that was both born on the one day.
It's good friends we've always been, and your father and your mother
and my father and my mother before us. And I was just thinking when
your girl and my boy grows up, supposing that they like each other
well enough, it might be pleasant to all of us that they'ld be married
some time.

"There's no man's son that I'd rather see a daughter of mine married
to than yours, Peter," said John, "if she herself was pleased. I'ld
not ask her to take anybody she didn't like, but if she came to love
him, and he came to love her, I'ld be as pleased as yourself."

"It was that I wanted to say," said Peter, "and I'd better go back to
Ellen now."

John and his mother said no more till they were at home. They both
went into the room where little Kathleen was. Mrs. Mulvey sat watching
the baby. She went out and left them. The child was sleeping as
peacefully as if there were no such thing in the world as sorrow or
loss or doubt, or a fairy to help or harm.

"John," said Mrs. O'Brien, "I'd think I might have done harm to that
child in trying to christen it, only I'm as sure as ever I was