to show.

"You have not been dressing the child? Dr. Hamilton told you not to
attempt it."

"Na, na, sir, I didna try," answered Janet, sadly and gently.

"That is well. I'm a father of a family myself," added Mr. Menteith,
more gently: "I've six of them; but, thank the Lord, ne'er a one of them
like this. Take it on your lap, nurse, and let the minister look at it!
Ay, here comes Dr. Hamilton!"

Mr. Cardross knew Dr. Hamilton by repute--as who did not? Since at
that period it was the widest-known name in the whole medical profession
in Scotland. And the first sight of him confirmed the reputation, and
made even a stranger recognize that his fame was both natural and
justifiable. But the minister had scarcely time to cast a glance on the
acute, benevolent, wonderfully powerful and thoughtful head, when his
attention was attracted by the poor infant, whom Janet was carefully
unswathing from innumerable folds of cotton wool.

Mrs. Campbell was a widow of only a month, and her mistress, to whom she
had been much attached, lay dead in the next room, yet she had still a
few tears left, and they were dropping like rain over her mistress's
child.

No wonder. It lay on her lap, the smallest, saddest specimen of
infantile deformity. It had a large head--larger than most infants
have--but its body was thin, elfish, and distorted, every joint and
limb being twisted in some way or other. You could not say that any