But Janet was otherwise engaged; and here, near the close of our story, it may not be amiss to glance for a moment at one who in the commencement of the narrative occupied a conspicuous place. About the time of Maude's blindness she had removed to a town in the southern part of New York, and though she wrote apprising her young mistress of the change, she forgot entirely to say where she was going, consequently the family were ignorant of her place of residence, until accident revealed it to J.C. De Vere. It was but a few weeks preceding Maude's return from Europe that he found himself compelled to spend a Sabbath in the quiet town of Fayette. Not far from his hotel an Episcopal church reared its slender tower, and thither, at the usual hour for service, he wended his way. There was to be a baptism that morning, and many a smile flitted over the face of matron and maid, as a meek-looking man came slowly up the aisle, followed by a short, thick, resolute Scotchwoman, in whom we recognize our old friend Janet Hopkins. Notwithstanding her firm conviction that Maude Matilda Remington Blodgett was her last and only one, she was now the mother of a sturdy boy, which the meek man carried in his arms. Hot disputes there had been between the twain concerning a name, Mr. Hopkins advocating simply John, as having been borne by his sire, while Janet, a little proud of the notoriety which her daughter's cognomen had brought to her, determined to honor her boy with a name which should astonish every one.