It seemed to Ida that she could stand there for long hours looking down into that lovely little face and those two great starry eyes that looked up wonderingly into her own. It cost her a great pang to hand the child back to the woman. But time was fleeting. She could not remain there longer, for the distant bells of the village were already ringing, proclaiming the noonday hour, and she must go home, or luncheon would be kept waiting.
"You come here often?" she asked, turning again to the woman.
"Almost every day," was the reply.
The hapless young wife made up her mind that she would see them often. Acting upon a sudden impulse, she took out her purse and handed the woman a golden coin.
"Take that for the little one," she said. "What is its name?"
"We haven't decided upon its name yet," returned the woman; "we have only had the child a few weeks."
"Would you think over it if I suggested a name?" asked Ida, wistfully.
"Yes, indeed," replied the woman. "You may be sure I would."
"Why not call her 'Ida May'?" murmured the young wife, with her whole heart and soul in her eyes.