Never could anyone be better nursed than Rhoda was nursed. Aunt Priscilla watched over her day and night, hardly taking rest, and sleeping only a few minutes at a time. No noise was permitted about the farm that could disturb her; only the old, familiar sounds of cattle lowing, and sheep bleating, and the cackling of barn-door fowls, which were as soothing as pleasant music to her ears. Joan and the baby were always in sight; except when they were sleeping in a little bed on the floor, near at hand, that she might never feel any fear concerning them. Every morsel of food she ate was prepared by Aunt Priscilla herself, who would not trust even Nurse Williams to do anything for Rhoda. For a few days it was very doubtful whether she could recover from the cold and hunger and weariness she had endured; but by-and-by there came a slight change, and by the time the spring began there was no longer any fear of her dying. But Rhoda was never the same again. Her pretty looks were gone, and so were her merry ways. She was a quiet and grave woman now; often sad. Year after year went by, and she heard nothing of the husband who had deserted her. Her aunt found her more of a companion than she had ever been before; and they two, with old Nathan, gleaned all the brightness of their lives from Joan and the baby. The old farmstead was a happier home for Joan than it had ever been for Rhoda. She had few indulgences, but she had the baby, the wonderful child whom she had found lying in the manger on Christmas Day. By-and-by, as she grew older, she understood Rhoda's sorrowful story, and how it was he had been laid there in order that she might find him. But every Christmas morning she stole early across the fold, and into the silent and empty shed, as if to seek the Christmas child; and when the baby was old enough she took him with her, and told him how she had found him there, and knew he was come to bring Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled.