Gerhardt listened to this, and it quieted him for a few moments, but his religion was something which he could not see put in the background by any such difficulty. How would the Lord look upon quibbling like this? It was not Christian, and it was his duty to attend to the matter. It must be taken, forthwith, to the church, Jennie, himself, and his wife accompanying it as sponsors; or, if he did not choose to condescend thus far to his daughter, he must see that it was baptized when she was not present. He brooded over this difficulty, and finally decided that the ceremony should take place on one of these week-days between Christmas and New Year’s, when Jennie would be at her work. This proposal he broached to his wife, and, receiving her approval, he made his next announcement. “It has no name,” he said. Jennie and her mother had talked over this very matter, and Jennie had expressed a preference for Vesta. Now her mother made bold to suggest it as her own choice. “How would Vesta do?” Gerhardt heard this with indifference. Secretly he had settled the question in his own mind. He had a name in store, left over from the halcyon period of his youth, and never opportunely available in the case of his own children—Wilhelmina. Of course he had no idea of unbending in the least toward his small granddaughter. He merely liked the name, and the child ought to be grateful to get it. With a far-off, gingery air he brought forward this first offering upon the altar of natural affection, for offering it was, after all. “That is nice,” he said, forgetting his indifference. “But how would Wilhelmina do?” Mrs. Gerhardt did not dare cross him when he was thus unconsciously weakening. Her woman’s tact came to the rescue. “We might give her both names,” she compromised. “It makes no difference to me,” he replied, drawing back into the shell of opposition from which he had been inadvertently drawn. “Just so she is baptized.” Jennie heard of this with pleasure, for she was anxious that the child should have every advantage, religious or otherwise, that it was possible to obtain. She took great pains to starch and iron the clothes it was to wear on the appointed day. Gerhardt sought out the minister of the nearest Lutheran church, a round-headed, thick-set theologian of the most formal type, to whom he stated his errand. “Your grandchild?” inquired the minister. “Yes,” said Gerhardt, “her father is not here.” “So,” replied the minister, looking at him curiously. Gerhardt was not to be disturbed in his purpose. He explained that he and his wife would bring her. The minister, realizing the probable difficulty, did not question him further. “The church cannot refuse to baptize her so long as you, as grandparent, are willing to stand sponsor for her,” he said.