"She gave me a cookery book, and she said to me that when the little golden beam shone into this dark house it would fill it with light, and that, with the baby and me--cooking you nice things to eat, as wouldn't cost much, but still nice, then all would be right and happy, and after all--Paradise, Jonas." "It seems to me as Sanna Verstage knows nuthin about it." "Jonas," pleaded Mehetabel, "give the little one a kiss. Take it in your arms." He turned away. "Jonas," she said, in a tone of discouragement, after a pause, and after having held out the child to him in vain, and then taken it back to her bosom, "what are you stampin' for?" He was beating his foot on the flooring. "I want Sally to come up. I thought you had something to say, and it seems there is nuthin'." "Nothing, Jonas? Do not go. Do not leave me thus. This is the first time you have been here since this little herald of goodwill appeared in my sky. Do not go! Come to me. Put your hand in mine, say that all is love and peace between us, and there will be no more mistrust and hard words. I will do my duty by you to the very best of my power, but, oh, Jonas, this will be a light thing to accomplish if there be love. Without--it will be heavy indeed." He continued stamping. "Will Sally never come?" "Jonas! there is one thing more I desired to say, What is the name to be given to the little fellow? It is right you should give him one." "I!" exclaimed the Broom-Squire, making for the stairs. "I! Call him any name you will, but not mine. Call him," he turned his mean face round, full of rancor, and with his lip drawn up on one side, "as you like--call him, if it please you--Iver." He went down the stairs muttering. What words more he said were lost in the noise of his feet. "Oh, my babe! my babe!" sobbed Mehetabel; "a herald not of goodwill but of wicked strife!" CHAPTER XXX. A BEQUEST. As Mehetabel became strong, the better feeling towards her in the heart of Sally Rocliffe sank out of sight, and the old ill-humor and jealousy took the upper hand once more. It was but too obvious to the young mother that the woman would have been well content had the feeble flame of life in the child been extinguished. This little life stood between her son Samuel and the inheritance of the Kink's farm. Whatever was necessary for the child was done, but done grudgingly, and Mehetabel soon learned that the little being that clung to her, and drew the milk of life from her bosom, was without a friend except herself, in the Punch-Bowl. Jonas maintained a cold estrangement from both her and the babe, its aunt would have welcomed its death.