"No, Polly; no, I can't make it out at all; it is very odd—very odd indeed. I can't think where the child came from," said John, shaking his head, slowly. "I don't believe the fairies brought it, though," he added, after a pause.
"Who do you think did, then?" asked Mrs. Shelley, quickly.
"I don't know who brought it, but I tell you what, Polly, I believe God sent it and means us to take care of it."
"Take care of it! Why, of course we must, John. You don't suppose I dreamt of sending it to the workhouse, do you? Little darling! Why, it is the very thing we have been longing for, a little girl; it shall be Charlie's foster-sister. All I hope is, whoever brought it will let us keep it. I love it already!"
"But, Polly, it isn't our child. We must take care of it, of course, for to-night, but you will have to go to Parson Leslie to-morrow and ask him what we ought to do to find out who it belongs to."
"Indeed, and I shall do no such thing," said Mrs. Shelley, hastily.
But the shepherd was master in his own home, and announced decidedly—
"Then I must go to-night, late as it is."
"And knock the parson up? It will be eleven o'clock before you get there. Sit down and get your supper, do, John, and we can talk about consulting him to-morrow."
"That won't do, Polly; either I must go to the rector to-night or you must promise to go to-morrow. Which is it to be?"