She never had the child baptized; she gave him no name; he was just baby to her--her baby, her darling. He was a sweet little fellow, very bright and winning; he had a way of drawing looks from that wild woman's eyes, and sentences from her untutored heart, that must have made the angels smile with pleasure; but for some reason, known best to his Heavenly Father, he was not to be left with her. When he was a year old, the baby died. This was Helen's story--just all that was good in her locked up in a child's grave. After his death she slaved and worked still, but the motive power was gone. Now she felt the hardships of her lot; her health gave way, and in time she found herself obliged to take refuge in the workhouse infirmary. No creature more ready for desperate actions, no more hardened soul had ever taken refuge there. She was in this state, untouched and unmoved by any one, when Robin came to her, and behold! in one instant the heart that had been as it seemed for ever locked by one baby, was opened by another. Helen put Robin into the dead child's place, and she loved him as her own soul. All this was done in an instant; just one touch of the little hands, one pressure of the little lips, and the deed was done. From this hour she began to get better; she no longer lay all day long with her eyes closed; they were opened wide enough now to watch Robin. When he laughed, she smiled; when he cried, she frowned; she would have almost killed in her fury any one who attempted to touch a hair of his head. But she never called him to her, and not a soul guessed her feelings. She got contented, however, and, as a probable consequence, better. Her disease began to yield to remedies. After a time she could leave her bed and walk about. The workhouse children toddled under her feet, but she swept them all aside, and no one cared to ask her to take care of any of them. Even Robin, whom she devoured with her eyes, she never offered to touch. One day, however, the universal favourite was dull and heavy, and the next day his bright face was missing. Helen, white as a sheet, went up and asked the matron the reason of this. "Oh! little Robin! he has the measles," she replied lightly. "We had to put him into a ward by himself, and very inconvenient it is. I'm just looking round now for some woman to go and nurse him, and I'm sure I don't know who to choose." "Choose me," said Helen, trembling, but standing firm, and looking the matron full in the face. "You! you poor creature! why, you were in your own bed a week ago." "Yes'm, but I'm most well now, and uncommon 'andy. Send me, matron!"