A Daughter of the Land

An hour later, as she walked back in the moonlight, Henry beside

her carrying the baby, he said to her: "This is a mighty big

thing, and a kind thing for you to do, Mrs. Holt. Mother has been

saying scandalous things about you."

"I know," said Kate. "But never mind! She won't any more."

The remainder of the week she passed in the same uplifted mental

state. She carried the baby in her arms and walked all over the

farm, going often to the cemetery with fresh flowers. Sunday

morning, when the work was all done, the baby dressed her

prettiest, Kate slipped into one of her fresh white dresses and

gathering a big bunch of flowers started again to whisper above

the graves of her mother and Polly the story of her gladness, and

to freshen the flowers, so that the people coming from church

would see that her family were remembered. When she had finished

she arose, took up the baby, and started to return across the

cemetery, going behind the church, taking the path she had

travelled the day she followed the minister's admonition to "take

the wings of morning." She thought of that. She stood very

still, thinking deeply.

"I took them," she said. "I've tried flight after flight; and

I've fallen, and risen, and fallen, and got up and tried again,

but never until now have I felt that I could really 'fly to the

uttermost parts of the earth.' There is a rising power in me that

should benefit more than myself. I guess I'll just join in."

She walked into the church as the last word of the song the

congregation were singing was finished, and the minister was

opening his lips to say: "Let us pray." Straight down the aisle

came Kate, her bare, gold head crowned with a flash of light at

each window she passed. She paused at the altar, directly facing

the minister.

"Baby and I would like the privilege of praising the Lord with

you," she said simply, "and we would like to do our share in

keeping up this church and congregation to His honour and glory.

There's some water. Can't you baptize us now?"

The minister turned to the pitcher, which always stood on his

desk, filled his palm, and asked: "What is the baby's name?"

"Katherine Eleanor Peters," said Kate.

"Katherine Eleanor, I baptize thee," said the minister, and he

laid his hand on the soft curls of the baby. She scattered the

flowers she was holding over the altar as she reached to spat her

hands in the water on her head and laughed aloud.

"What is your name?" asked the minister.

"Katherine Eleanor Holt," said Kate.

Again the minister repeated the formula, and then he raised both

hands and said: "Let us pray."