while Annie worked. It was a terribly busy
morning. She had risen at four to get the
washing out of the way before the men got
on hand, and there were a dozen loaves of
bread to bake, and the meals to get, and
the milk to attend to, and the chickens and
pigs to feed. So occupied was she that she
never was able to tell how long she was
gone from the baby. She only knew that
the heat of her own body was so great that
the blood seemed to be pounding at her
ears, and she staggered as she crossed the
yard. But when she went at last with a
cup of milk to feed the little one, it lay with
clenched fists and fixed eyes, and as she
lifted it, a last convulsion laid it back breath-
less, and its heart had ceased to beat.

Annie ran with it to her room, and tried
such remedies as she had. But nothing
could keep the chill from creeping over the
wasted little form, -- not even the heat of
the day, not even the mother's agonized
embrace. Then, suddenly, Annie looked
at the clock. It was time to get the dinner.
She laid the piteous tiny shape straight on
the bed, threw a sheet over it, and went
back to the weltering kitchen to cook for
those men, who came at noon and who must
be fed -- who must be fed.