Merry's child without the knowledge of its inheritance from the father.
Suppose this little mountain child were given its chance among people
who did not know."

"The children would reveal themselves, my dear." Angela was defending,
she knew not what, but all her nature was up in arms. "It is God's way."

"Or our bungling and lack of faith, Sister, which?"

All the weariness and hopelessness passed from Doris's face; she was
eager, her eyes shone. Presently she stood up, her back to the fire, her
glance on that far window that opened to the starry night and the
narrow, flower-hidden bed on the hill.

"Sister Angela," the words were spoken solemnly as a vow might be taken
before God, "I am going to take--both children. But on one condition--I
am not to know which is Meredith's."

A log rolling from the irons startled the women--their nerves were
strained to the breaking point.

"Impossible!" gasped Angela.

"Why?"

"Your own has claims upon you!"

"None that I am not willing to give--but this is the only way. If, as
you say, it is God's way that they reveal themselves, then I lose; if
God is with me, I win."