Bob Sangster's tongue hung from his mouth, long and black and withered, like the tongue of a dead beef, as he stood there on the outskirts of New Jerusalem and thought of many things. Bill Kearny had been right. It was a Christmas baby. It would pull through all right. He drew the baby to him until their faces were very close, so close that a little hand crept up and closed tightly over the godfather's nose. This was to be their last supreme moment together, for after tonight some woman must enter into Robert William Thomas' life and Bob Sangster could only be a partner in his godson's love. He recalled that the baby's mother had told The Worst Bad Man they had “kin” in New Jerusalem, and Bob Sangster wondered if she had intended that he should turn the baby over to them. The thought appalled him, and his hot tears fell fast on the little white face as he staggered down the grade into New Jerusalem. “I won't give you up,” he gibbered, “I won't. You're mine. Your mother give you to me to raise like a man, an' I'm a-goin' to do it. You're my kid an' you're named after us three. No, no, I won't. I've died ten thousand deaths for you--I'll work an' I'll hire a woman----” Fifteen minutes later a battered, bleeding, raving wreck of a man, who hugged a bundle to his great breast, reeled into New Jerusalem and paused in front of a hurdy-gurdy. From within came the plaintive notes of a melodeon, and a woman--a Mary Magdalen--was singing: _Jerusalem, Jerusalem, lift up your gates and sing,_ _Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna to your King!_ Bob Sangster made his uncertain way to the woman at the melodeon and held a bundle toward her. “What's this?” she demanded. The last of the godfathers gobbled and mumbled, but the words refused to come. How could the woman know what he was trying to say? She unwrapped the bundle and gazed down at Robert William Thomas Sangster. Who knows? Perhaps in that moment the woman, too, like The Three Bad Men, beheld The King! End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Three Godfathers, by Peter B. Kyne