"Yes, ma'am. 'E is that. 'E's been keepin' fine since three weeks come Sunday. That was the night Old Angus took 'im to the Harmy an' got 'im saved. An' 'e's ben keepin' nicely saved ever since. We've been 'avin' butter," she added proudly. "Ever since 'e got 'imself converted. But we 'ad to 'ave the doctor for pore Minnie." Her thin little face quivered. "If Minnie'd only get better now, we'd be gettin' a good start, an' we'd all be 'appy." "Mr. Perkins has work now, hasn't he?" said Madame comfortingly. "Yes'm. It's not steady, but Old Angus 'e's goin' to get 'im another job. It's ben rather 'ard on my man," she added apologetically, "just a comin' out from the hold country. It's 'ard gettin' work at first. An' I wan't much use with 'im a comin'," she added, touching the bundle reverently. "So this is the only Canadian baby you have," said Madame. "Yes'm." The mother forgot her troubles and smiled and fawned on the bundle in delight. "He's Johny Canuck, isn't he?" asked Madame, with a feeble attempt at gaiety. "Oh, no, ma'am," cried the mother hastily. "'E's William 'Enery, after 'is paw. We ain't got 'im christened yet. But jist as soon's I can get 'im a dress the pawson,--'e's a foine man,--'e says 'e'll come an' do 'im, an' if my man jist keeps nicely saved, we'll be gettin' a dress. But it's been 'ard on my man. Eddie there 'e's not much 'elp, poor lad. But 'e goes out on the railroad track an' picks me up a bit o' coal. An' Old Angus 'e's been that good. Oh, we'd never a' got on without Old Angus. But if my Minnie 'adn't took sick--" She wiped a tear on the baby's dirty dress. It was the quiet, dispassionate tear of a woman long accustomed to hardship. "I'll be all right when I get a bit stronger an' can work," she added hopefully. The visitors rose to go. Madame held the woman's hand a long time, trying to explain, as though to a little child, how the sick girl must be treated. The case seemed so pitiful she was at a loss what to say. "I'm afraid I can't get back for a few days, Mrs. Perkins," she said. "I'll come and see Minnie to-morrow," said Helen Murray suddenly. The morrow was her precious Saturday that brought a rest from the week's hard work, but the words seemed forced from her. The look of childish fear in the woman's face made some sort of promise necessary for her own peace of mind. The woman looked up at her gratefully as she took the baby. "It's awful good o' you, Miss," she cried, "and indeed I'll be thet grateful, if you'd just come and tell me the best thing to do for Minnie. I'm not much of a 'and in sickness." She looked at the two visitors wistfully. "It does a body good jist to 'ave a word with somebody that's sorry for you," she added. Helen went away, her heart sore and sick with the woman's pain.