And in a little further came the face and head, followed by a pair of broad shoulders and a huge body, whereupon Abe saw who they belonged to, and rising from his seat he noticed that the great hard face was clouded and softened with sorrow. Ah, it is a hard heart that does not melt sometimes. "What's ta want?" asked Abe, in a kind tone. "Arr bit bairn 's badly," replied the big man, "and th' missus wants the' to come and sprinkle it." "Th' missus want me does she,--and what does thaa want?" said Abe, looking meaningly at him. "Does thaa want me to come?" "Ay," responded the man, looking rather humble, and feeling that Abe had obtained his first victory by that confession. "Well, I'll goa wi' the'," and, putting on his hat, they went out together, and betook themselves to the dwelling of the visitor. Arriving there Abe beheld a painful yet by no means uncommon picture. A room miserably furnished, and not the ghost of comfort anywhere; several little ragged children stood grouped together, and in the midst of them was the saddest figure of all--"the missus," the wife, the mother, in tears, and on her lap, wrapped in an old faded shawl, was a dying infant. The woman tried to smile amid her tears as Abe came in, just the shadow of a smile, and then her poor face settled again to that look of anguish it had before, as if all her meagre joy were slowly dying with that little creature that lay feebly gasping on her lap. It was so like a woman to remember amid her grief, to give a sign of welcome to her visitor. "Aye, my lass, I'm real sorry for the'; thaa has a mother's heart, I see, and thaa'd loike to keep thee bairn, I knaw thaa wad; but thaa mun remember God has first claim on 't, and if He wants it, thaa'll be loike to let Him ha' it. He can tak' better care on 't nor thaa can; bless it, it'll sooin be better off nor ony on us--don't fret, my lass--th' Lord comfort the'." And so in this way Little Abe went on talking, softening, comforting, and strengthening the bitter heart of that poor woman; at length he said, "Thaa wants me to baptize th' little un, I reckon." "If yo' pleeas," she replied. "Jack," added she turning to her husband, who stood all the time with his back to the table, trying hard to keep his eyes dry and swallow down a lump that was continually rising into his throat, "get a basin o' watter, my lad." It was said so sadly and yet so kindly, that if Jack had had to go through fire to fetch that basin of water he would have got it. In a minute or two he came with the basin in his big broad hand and stood close up to his wife's side, looking down on his dying child.