fancy ter one another long ago."

He smiled blandly, in exquisite relief, as if he had confessed a sin or
had a tooth drawn. He took the child from Ada, and it lay in his arms,
nestling close with animal content.

Ada looked in silence, astonished and slightly scornful at this
development, jealous of the child's preference, already regretting
her neglect.

Mrs Yabsley stood petrified with the face of one who has seen a miracle.
For a moment she was too amazed to think; then, with a rapid change of
front, she conquered her surprise and claimed the credit for this result.

"I knowed all along the kid 'ud fetch yer, Joe. I knowed yer'd got a soft
'eart," she cried. "An' 'e's the very image of yer, wi' the sweetest
temper mortal child ever 'ad."

From that time Sunday became a marked day for Jonah, and he looked forward
to it with impatience. It was spring. The temperate rays of the sun fell
on budding tree and shrub; the mysterious renewal of life that stirred
inanimate nature seemed to touch his pulse to a quicker and lighter beat.
He sat for hours in the backyard, once a garden, screened from
observation, with the child on his knees. The blood ran pleasantly in his
veins; he felt in sympathy with the sunlight, the sky flecked with clouds,
and the warm breath of the winds. It broke on him slowly that he was
taking his place among his fellows, outcast and outlaw no longer.

Soon, he and the child were inseparable. He learned to attend to its
little wants with deft fingers, listening with a smile to the kindly