Old Ike's joy was more than he could manage. He had sat on the floor all
night long, with his head buried in his hands.

The instinct of grief to come, which not even all these long peaceful
months had been able to wholly allay in his faithful heart, had sprung
into full life at the first symptom of danger to Draxy.

"P'raps it's this way, arter all, the Lord's goin' to do it. O Lord! O
Lord! It'll kill Mr. Kinney, it'll kill him," he kept repeating over and
over, as he rocked to and fro. Hannah eyed him savagely. Her Indian blood
hated groans and tears, and her affection for her master was angered at
the very thought of his being afflicted.

"I wish it had pleased yer Lord to give ye the sense of a man, Mr.
Sanborn," she said, "while He was a makin' on ye. If ye'd go to bed, now,
instead o' snivelin' round here, you might be good for somethin' in the
mornin', when there'll be plenty to do. Anyhow, I'm not goin' to be
pestered by the sight on ye any longer," and Hannah banged the
kitchen-door violently after her.

When poor Ike timidly peered into the sitting-room, whither she had
betaken herself, he found her, too, sitting on the floor, in an attitude
not unlike the one she had so scorned in him. But he was too meek to taunt
her. He only said,--

"I'm goin' now, Hannah, so ye needn't stay out o' the kitchen for me," and
he climbed slowly up the stairs which led to his room.

As the rosy day dawned in the east, Draxy's infant son drew his first