the most berries, and a card saying, "Merry. Christmas to Carrie with Kate's best love." And here was poor Carrie saying with a beaming face that it was her nicest present. She was ashamed of herself.
On Christmas night Joe lit the candles on the tree. They shone reflected in the baby's eyes as he lunged in his father's arms with reaching hands; they shone through his silky fuzz of hair, making a halo. And suddenly Kate felt as if her heart had cracked in her side from terror. Is it a sign? Does it mean my baby's going to die? Oh, don't let my baby die!
Some day my baby must die.
"Joe! Give me Jodie!"
She grew weak with the exquisite reassurance that flooded her from the warm sweet weight of her child's body. His lashes lay on his round pink cheeks, one dimpled hand with its creased wrist fell relaxed on her knee. To hold him, this way, safe
I wish I could keep him safe forever! If there is sorrow coming to my child, I wish I could take it instead.
Joe was puffing out the candles; wax had dripped on the fallen balsam needles on the rug, and a branch of the tree that had caught in a candle flame made the air aromatic. He threw a pine log on the fire, and the flames licked around it.
How lonely we are, Kate thought. Oh, what was the matter with her to-night? These gloomy thoughts—she must be tired. But it was true. Here were the
