"It is to your brother we owe its withdrawal," said the bishop,
privately, to Ruth.

She beamed gratefully, but did not tell him that, after the long, secret
conference between her brother and the rector, Leonard had come to her
and wept for Arthur the only tears he had ever shed in her presence.
Now Leonard had found occasion to go West for a time, though he still
held his office; and Arthur was filling the rectorate almost in the old
first way. On some small parish matter the rustic vestryman with the
spectacled daughter came to Arthur's library in better spirits than he
had shown for months, and by and by asked conjecturally, "I--eh--guess
you don't keep any babies here you're ashamed to show, do ye?" and held
his mouth very wide open.

The infinitesimal was brought.

"Well, I vum! Why, Miz. Winslow, I don't believe th' ever was a pretty
baby so puny, nor a puny baby so pretty! Now, if it's a fair question, I
hope y' ain't tryin' to push in between this baby and the keaow, be ye?"

"No," laughed Isabel. "I'm not that conceited. I should only be in the
way."

"Well," he said as they parted, shaking Arthur's hand to the end of his
speech, "I like to see a baby resemble its father, and that's what this
'n 's a-tryin' to do, jest 's hard 's she can."

So went matters for a time, and then, while the babe began to fill out
and lengthen out, Isabel showed herself daily more and more overspent.
The physician reappeared, and spoke plainly:--