"We have only his memory with us now, Daniel," was the quiet reply. "I
always think of him as a baby, or as a strong manly boy coming home
from school. But for that precious recollection I hardly know how I
could bear up at all."

Scarcely had she finished speaking, when a faint knock sounded upon the
front door. They both started and listened attentively, thinking that
perhaps it was only the wind. But when the knock was repeated, Parson
Dan rose quickly to his feet, crossed the room and entered the outer
hall. As he unlocked and opened the front door, a shaving of cold wind
whipped into the room, while the inky night rose suddenly before him
like a great perpendicular wall. For a few seconds he could see
nothing, but as his eyes became accustomed to the blackness, he beheld
a dim form standing before him. Then a large bundle was thrust
suddenly into his arms, and the figure disappeared. He thought he
heard a sob borne on the night air as he stood in the door-way
clutching the burden imposed upon him. But perhaps it was only the
wailing of the wind he heard. He was too dazed to be sure of himself
as he stood there peering forth into the night, expecting some one to
enter, or at least to speak and explain the meaning of this strange
behaviour. But none of these things happened, so, still bewildered, he
closed the door with his foot and made his way back into the
living-room.

"Daniel, Daniel! what are you standing there in the draught for?" his
wife remonstrated. "You will get your death of cold."

She ceased abruptly, however, when she saw her husband enter with the
strange bundle in his arms.