Family Pride eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 685 pages of information about Family Pride.

“Not water, but the blood of Jesus cleanseth from all sin,” Morris said, “and as sure as he died so sure this little one is safe.  Besides that, there may be time for the baptism yet—­that is, to-morrow.  Baby will not die to-night, and if you like, it still shall have a name.”

Eagerly Katy seized upon that idea, thinking more of the sign, the water, than the name, which scarcely occupied her thoughts at all.  It did not matter what the child was called, so that it became one of the little ones in glory, and with a calmer, quieter demeanor than she had shown that day she saw Morris depart at a late hour; and then turning to the child which Uncle Ephraim now was holding, kissed it lovingly, whispering as she did so:  “Baby shall be baptized—­baby shall have the sign.”



Morris had telegraphed to New York, receiving in reply that Wilford was hourly expected home, and would at once hasten on to Silverton.  The clergyman, Mr. Kelly, had also been seen, but owing to a funeral which would take him out of town, he could not be at the farmhouse until five in the afternoon, when, if the child still lived, he would be glad to officiate as requested.  All this Morris had communicated to Katy, who listened in a kind of stupor, gasping for breath, when she heard that Wilford would so soon be there, and moaning “that will be too late,” when told that the baptism could not take place till night.  Then, kneeling by the crib where the child was lying, she fastened her great, sad blue eyes upon the pallid face with an earnestness as if thus she would hold till nightfall the life flickering so faintly and seeming so nearly finished.  The wailings had ceased, and they no longer carried it within their arms, but had placed it in its crib, where it lay perfectly still, save as its eyes occasionally unclosed and turned wistfully toward the cups, where it knew was something which quenched its raging thirst.  Once, indeed, as the hours crept on to noon and Katy bent over it so that her curls swept its face, it seemed to know her, and the little wasted hand was for a moment uplifted and rested on her cheek with the same caressing motion it had been wont to use in health.  Then hope whispered that it might live, and with a great cry of joy Katy sobbed:  “She knows me, Morris—­mother, see; she knows me.  Maybe she will live.”

But the dull stupor which succeeded to that act swept all hope away, and again Katy resumed her post, watching first her dying child, and then the long hands of the clock which crept on so slowly, pointing to only two when she thought it must be five.  Would that hour never come, or coming, would it find baby there?  None could answer that last question—­they could only wait and pray, and as they waited thus the warm September sun neared the western sky till its yellow beams came stealing through the window and across the floor to where Katy sat watching its onward

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Family Pride from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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