portion of the child was natural or perfect except the head and face.
Whether it had the power of motion or not seemed doubtful; at any rate,
it made no attempt to move, except feebly turning its head from side to
side. It lay, with its large eyes wide open, and at last opened its
poor little mouth also, and uttered a loud pathetic wail.

"It greets, doctor, ye hear," said the nurse, eagerly; "'deed, an' it
greets fine, whiles."

"A good sign," observed Dr. Hamilton. "Perhaps it may live after all,
though one scarcely knows whether to desire it."

"I'll gar it live, doctor," cried Janet, as she rocked and patted it,
and at last managed to lay it to her motherly breast; "I'll gar it live,
ye'll see! That is God willing."

"It could not live, it could never have lived at all, if He were not
willing," said the minister, reverently. And then, after a long pause,
during which he and the two other gentlemen stood watching, with sad
pitying looks, the unfortunate child, he added, so quietly and naturally
that, though they might have thought it odd, they could hardly have
thought it out of place or hypocritical, "Let us pray."

It was a habit, long familiar to this good Presbyterian minister, who
went in and out among his parishioners as their pastor and teacher,
consoler and guide. Many a time, in many a cottage, had he knelt down,
just as he did here, in the midst of deep affliction, and said a few
simple words, as from children to a father--the Father of all men.
And the beginning and end of his prayer was, now as always, the
expression and experience of his own entire faith--"Thy will be