draperies
with the infinitesimal human morsel inside them, which she vehemently
declared was the very image of its father.

For that young father--

But I--what can _I_ say?  How should _I_ tell of the  of a man
over his first-born?

I did not see John till a day afterwards--when he came into our
house, calm, happy, smiling.  But Jael told me, that when she first
placed his baby in his arms he had wept like a child.

The little maiden grew with the snowdrops.  Winter might have dropped
her out of his very lap, so exceedingly fair, pale, and pure-looking
was she.  I had never seen, or at least never noticed, any young baby
before; but she crept into my  before I was aware.  I seem to
have a clear remembrance of all the data in her still and quiet
infancy, from the time her week-old fingers, with their tiny pink
nails--a ludicrous picture of her father's hand in little--made me
smile as they closed over mine.

She was named Muriel--after the rather peculiar name of John's
mother.  Her own mother would have it so; only wordnetdesire out of her
full , happy one! that there should be