See these lovely little feet, and there's strong he is!" "Yes, druan bach,[1] he is a beautiful boy, indeed," she would answer with a sigh, drawing her wrinkled finger over the fresh soft cheek.
Valmai began to chafe at the want of brightness which surrounded her little one's life.

She was proud of him, and wished to take him into the village.
"No, my child," said Nance gently, "you had better not." "Why not ?" was on Valmai's lips, but she hesitated.

A deep blush crimsoned her face.

"My boy has nothing to be ashamed of," she said, with a proud toss of her head.
"When is he to be christened ?" was Nance's next question.
"September." "September!" gasped the old woman, "he will be three months old; and what if anything should happen to him before then ?" "Nothing _shall_ happen to him," said Valmai, folding him to her heart.
"My life and my body are larger than his, and they will both have to go before any harm reaches him." "There's a foolish thing to say," said Nance, "and I wonder at you, merch i.

You ought to know by this time that we are clay in the hands of the Potter.