Grandmother looked up too, as if she saw some one, or thought to see; and I saw a listening look come over her face, as if she heard some sound, or hoped to hear. And when, a moment later, she knelt down to pray, she moved her dress a little aside, as if making room for some one. Anne knew what it meant. Grandmother had told her. “I believe,” she said, “that a baby’s angel stays by till after it is christened. I can’t tell you just how I know, but I hear—sometimes—I hear sounds that aren’t this-world sounds. And some one speaks to me—without words, yet I understand—oh, yes, I understand.” It was a pretty fancy; she was full of pretty fancies, many of them coming, I suppose, from her lonely childhood. And so Baby Faith was christened, and became the light of Grandmother’s life. CHAPTER VIII HOW HER HAIR TURNED WHITE NOW followed the golden time of Grandmother’s life. I hardly know how to describe the change that came over her with the coming of little Faith. She seemed to grow taller, straighter, fuller. The windflower was gone, and instead there was a tall white lily, growing firm and strong, sending its roots deep down, spreading its broad green leaves and silver petals abroad to the sun. She took all the care of the baby. Rachel was not strong, and could not bear to lose sleep, and Grandmother joyfully declared that she slept the better for having the cradle beside her bed. Rachel slept late, and Grandmother would take Baby down and tuck her up in Grandfather’s great chair while she got breakfast for Manuel and herself, and then made ready the pretty tray for Rachel. Then out she would run into the garden with the child in her arms, to get the morning dew. “The morning dew to make you fair, The morning sun to curl your hair; The birds to sing to you, Fly to you, bring to you Everything sweet from everywhere.” We realized now that many of Grandmother’s little songs were her own; we could see them making; they came bubbling up like bird-songs, and she would try one word and another, one note and another, till all was to her mind. “How do you do it, Grandmother?” Anne Peace would say. And Grandmother would laugh and say, “I don’t, Anne. There isn’t any making about it; they just come.” She never used to laugh, except with the children, but now she was full of laughter and singing. How could she help it? she would say. Who could help singing with a baby in the house, and such a baby as Faith?