"What are you carrying this for, Matabel?" "I defend baby with it," she answered. "Well, you do not need it in my house," said the dame, and placed the liver-colored lump on the table. "How hot your hand is," she continued. "Here, let me feel again. It is burning. And your forehead is the same. Are you unwell, Matabel?" "I am cold," she answered dreamily. "You have been over-worried and worked," said the kind old woman. "I will get you a cup of tea." "He won't follow me any more and try to take my baby away," said Mehetabel. "I am glad of that." "And I also." Then she moved her seat, winding and bending on one side. "What is it, my dear?" asked Betty. "His shadow. It will follow me and fall over baby." "What do you mean?" Mehetabel made no reply, and the widow buried herself in preparation for the midday meal, a very humble one of bread and weak tea. "There's drippin' in the bowl," she said, "you can put some o' that on the bread. And now, give me the little chap. You are not afraid of trusting him to me?" "Oh, no!" The mother at once surrendered the child, and Mrs. Chivers sat by the fire with the infant in her lap. "He's very like you," she said. "I couldn't love him if he were like him," said Mehetabel. "You must not say that." "He is a bad man." "Leave God to judge him." "He has judged him," answered the girl, looking vacantly into the fire, and then passed her hand over her eyes and pressed her brow. "Have you a headache, dear?" "Yes--bad. It is his shadow has got in there--rolled up, and I can't shake it out." "Matabel--you must go to bed. You are not well." "No--I am not well. But my baby?" "He is safe with me." "I am glad of that, you will teach him A B C, and the Creed, and to pray to and fear God. But you needn't teach him to find Abelmeholah on the map, nor how many gallons of water the Jordan carries into the Dead Sea every minute, nor how many generations there are in Matthew. That is all no good at all. Nor does it matter where is the country of the Gergesenes. I have tried it. The Vicar was a good man, was he not, Betty?" "Yes, very good." "He would give the coat off his back, and the bread out of his mouth to the poor. He gave beef and plum pudding all around at Christmas, and lent out blankets in winter. But he never gave anything to the soul, did he, Betty? Never made the heart warm. I found it so. What I got of good for that was from you." "My dear," said the old woman, starting up. "I insist on your going to bed at once. I see by your eye, by the fire in your cheek, that you are ill." "I will go to bed; I do not want anything to eat, only to lay my head down, and then the shadow will run out at my ear--only I fear it may stain the pillow. When I'm rich I will buy you another. Baby is rich; he has got a hundred and fifty pounds. What is his is mine, and what is mine is his. He will not grudge you a new pillow-case."