“In the parsley-bed, I suppose,” answered Charlie, and was nearer right than usual, for the information on which his conclusion was founded had no doubt been imparted as belonging to the history of the human race. But my reader can easily imagine the utter bewilderment of those of the family whose knowledge of human affairs would not allow of their curiosity being so easily satisfied as that of the boys. In them was exemplified that confusion of the intellectual being which is produced by the witness of incontestable truth to a thing incredible--in which case the probability always is, that the incredibility results from something in the mind of the hearer falsely associated with and disturbing the true perception of the thing to which witness is borne. Nor was the astonishment confined to the family, for it spread over the parish that Mrs. Walton had got another baby. And so, indeed, she had. And seldom has baby met with a more hearty welcome than this baby met with from everyone of our family. They hugged it first, and then asked questions. And that, I say, is the right way of receiving every good gift of God. Ask what questions you will, but when you see that the gift is a good one, make sure that you take it. There is plenty of time for you to ask questions afterwards. Then the better you love the gift, the more ready you will be to ask, and the more fearless in asking. The truth, however, soon became known. And then, strange to relate, we began to receive visits of condolence. O, that poor baby! how it was frowned upon, and how it had heads shaken over it, just because it was not Ethelwyn’s baby! It could not help that, poor darling! “Of course, you’ll give information to the police,” said, I am sorry to say, one of my brethren in the neighbourhood, who had the misfortune to be a magistrate as well. “Why?” I asked. “Why! That they may discover the parents, to be sure.” “Wouldn’t it be as hard a matter to prove the parentage, as it would be easy to suspect it?” I asked. “And just think what it would be to give the baby to a woman who not only did not want her, but who was not her mother. But if her own mother came to claim her now, I don’t say I would refuse her, but I should think twice about giving her up after she had once abandoned her for a whole night in the open air. In fact I don’t want the parents.” “But you don’t want the child.” “How do you know that?” I returned--rather rudely, I am afraid, for I am easily annoyed at anything that seems to me heartless--about children especially. “O! of course, if you want to have an orphan asylum of your own, no one has a right to interfere. But you ought to consider other people.” “That is just what I thought I was doing,” I answered; but he went on without heeding my reply-- “We shall all be having babies left at our doors, and some of us are not so fond of them as you are. Remember, you are your brother’s keeper.”