And as John was very slow and deliberate in all his actions, and his wife very quick in all hers, by the time he came back the little stranger was washed and dressed, and fed, and sleeping quietly in the cradle, while Mrs. Shelley nursed her own boy. "Well, John, have you found any fairy rings?" "No, Polly; no, I can't make it out at all; it is very odd--very odd indeed. I can't think where the child came from," said John, shaking his head, slowly. "I don't believe the fairies brought it, though," he added, after a pause. "Who do you think did, then?" asked Mrs. Shelley, quickly. "I don't know who brought it, but I tell you what, Polly, I believe God sent it and means us to take care of it." "Take care of it! Why, of course we must, John. You don't suppose I dreamt of sending it to the workhouse, do you? Little darling! Why, it is the very thing we have been longing for, a little girl; it shall be Charlie's foster-sister. All I hope is, whoever brought it will let us keep it. I love it already!" "But, Polly, it isn't our child. We must take care of it, of course, for to-night, but you will have to go to Parson Leslie to-morrow and ask him what we ought to do to find out who it belongs to." "Indeed, and I shall do no such thing," said Mrs. Shelley, hastily. But the shepherd was master in his own home, and announced decidedly-- "Then I must go to-night, late as it is." "And knock the parson up? It will be eleven o'clock before you get there. Sit down and get your supper, do, John, and we can talk about consulting him to-morrow." "That won't do, Polly; either I must go to the rector to-night or you must promise to go to-morrow. Which is it to be?" "There never was such a pig-headed man as you. If you set your mind on a thing there is no turning you. I suppose I shall have to go, or you'll be rushing off now, and I want my supper. One thing I am sure of, John, and that is, the baby belongs to rich people, and, I think, to some nobleman, for all the things have a coronet on them, and its clothes are all so fine." "Is there no name on any of them?" "No, nor anything to give us the least idea who the child is. It has evidently been accustomed to luxury, though, and somehow I fancy it is a foreign child. I never saw any baby's clothes made as these are," said Mrs. Shelley. A foreign child was an idea John Shelley could not accept so suddenly. His slow phlegmatic mind could not travel beyond his own country--scarcely beyond the Sussex downs. "More likely to be one of the quality's children. They don't make their clothes as we do, I expect; but if you show Mr. Leslie that coronet he may be able to make something of it."