Strange and terrible as it seems, Rachel did not grow fond of her baby. She had made up her mouth, she said, for a boy; she had never liked girl babies, and she wasn’t going to pretend that she did. “You needn’t look like that, Grandmother, as if you expected the sky to fall on me. I’m one that isn’t afraid to say what I think, and I think it’s real mean, so now, and I never shall think anything else.” Manuel too was greatly disappointed. Rachel had been so absolutely sure, that he too had counted on the promised boy, feeling somehow that she must know. They had named the child—Orlando Harold was to be his name. He was to have Manuel’s eyes and Rachel’s hair, and was to be President or Major-General; this was the only point that was not settled. And now—still Manuel felt a stirring at his heart, when he saw the little fair creature in Grandmother’s arms. “After all, there have to be girls!” he said. “I didn’t have to have one,” said Rachel, flouncing away from him. Mother Peace, while she nursed Rachel faithfully and sturdily, grew more and more rigid with indignation. “Take this broth!” she would say. “Yes, you will; take every sup of it; there! If ’twasn’t for my living duty I’d put whole peppercorns into it, Rachel Merion. Such actions! what the Lord was thinking of I don’t know.” For Rachel was not nursing the baby; said she could not, she should die. “I want a free foot,” she said; “and they do just as well on a bottle, Mis’ Peace.” “They do not!” said Mrs. Peace. “I’ll trouble you not to teach me to suck eggs, Rachel. Now you are going to take a nap, and much good may it do you!” “I’m not!” said Rachel. “You are!” said Mrs. Peace, and drew down the shades and went out closing the door after her. Mrs. Peace’s indignation even extended to Grandmother. “I believe she don’t care, either!” she said. “Grandmother, I really believe you don’t care that Rachel is a heathen and a publican, and had ought to be slapped instead of fed and cockered up.” Grandmother looked up with a face so radiant, it seemed to startle the whole room into sudden light. “Oh, but she will!” she said. “She will care, dear Mrs. Peace. She can’t possibly help it, you know, when she comes to get about and hold the little darling angel, and feel its little blessedness all warm in her arms. She can’t help it then, my Precious Precious, can she? Oh, Mrs. Peace, she is smiling. Anne, Anne, come quick, she is smiling.” “Wind!” said Mrs. Peace calmly. Grandmother flushed and looked almost angry. “How can you, Mrs. Peace?” she said. “But I know better, I know! I almost heard them whisper; I almost heard the rustle—” “What rustle?” asked Anne under her breath. But Grandmother only smiled down at baby. “Rachel says I may name her!” she said. “Isn’t that kind of her?” Mrs. Peace sniffed. “What shall you call her?” asked Anne.