One of these was a crib which had been his. This was standing in a
corner of the room with the little pillow and white spread in perfect
order. For a few moments Mrs. Royal stood looking down upon the small
cot associated with such sweet memories. Then she placed the candle
upon a small table and set earnestly to work. First she removed the
clothes and mattress and carried the crib into her own room across the
hall. Going back for the clothes, she carried them downstairs, and
spread them upon the backs of several chairs for them to warm before
the fire.
Parson Dan watched her intently, but made no comment. He fully
realised how risky it was to speak just then. He knew how much it
meant for his wife to disturb that little cot and make it ready for a
strange child. Neither did he wish to say anything, for he himself was
deeply stirred as memories of other days rushed upon him. When at last
Rodney was carefully covered and sound asleep in the crib upstairs,
they both stood looking down upon his sweet round face.
"Poor little waif," Mrs. Royal remarked. "He is somebody's child, and
perhaps his mother is longing for him at this very moment."
"There is no doubt about it," her husband replied.
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