foreigner at that, when there were any quantity of
babies up and down the shore that could be had for
the asking. The little creature was, no doubt, helpless,
and appealed to Miss Jane's sympathies, but
why bring it home at all? Were there not places
enough in France where it could be brought up? etc.,
etc. This sort of gossip went on for days after
Jane's return, each dropper-in at tea-table or village
gathering having some view of her own to express,
the women doing most of the talking.

The discussion thus begun by friends was soon
taken up by the sewing societies and church gatherings,
one member in good standing remarking loud
enough to be heard by everybody:

"As for me, I ain't never surprised at nothin'
Jane Cobden does. She's queerer than Dick's hat-
band, and allus was, and I've knowed her ever since
she used to toddle up to my house and I baked cookies
for her. I've seen her many a time feed the dog
with what I give her, just because she said he
looked hungry, which there warn't a mite o' truth
in, for there ain't nothin' goes hungry round my
place, and never was. She's queer, I tell ye."

"Quite true, dear Mrs. Pokeberry," remarked
Pastor Dellenbaugh in his gentlest tone--he had
heard the discussion as he was passing through the
room and had stopped to listen--"especially when