The nurse took the child and diverted its attention.

The husband sat far on the bed, put one arm under the pillow that supported his wife, and held her hand in his.

Recollections and anticipations, we knew, were thronging, unbidden, into that mother's soul.

She had been reminded of fountains of love sealed up, and yet there were opening within her living fountains of water.

She grew calm, beckoned for a little book on the table, opened it, and pointed her husband to a stanza, which she had marked, and he read it for her:-- "When I can trust my all with God, In trial's painful hour, Bow all resigned beneath his rod, And bless his sparing power; A joy springs up amid distress, A fountain in the wilderness." That was her profession of religion, and her signal to the pastor to proceed.