While Angella did her chores in the morning, Jake looked after Nettie's laughing, fair-haired baby. The breed adored the child, and the hours he spent playing with him were the happiest of his life. Angella had built a small "yard" for the baby to play in safely while Jake, on his hands and knees, would play "cat and dog" outside the railings, to the baby's unbounded delight.

He had grown into a beautiful child, with his mother's fair skin and blue eyes, and his blonde hair curled in tiny ringlets all over his small, round head. He was the soul of good humor, and though not robust, his health was rapidly improving.

Life had assumed a new meaning for the woman recluse and the change was reflected in her expression. The defiant look was almost gone from the bright eyes, the lips were no longer bitterly compressed; with a faint color in her cheeks, and her soft gray hair curling about her face, Angella Loring was almost beautiful, as she held the baby close in her arms, and murmured foolish endearments over it.

By the time she finished her milking and chores in the early morning, the baby would be awake, and as soon as she came into the house, he would set up a loud demand for bath and food. Before either Jake or Angella breakfasted, he must first be cared for. Satisfied, rosy and clean, he would then be put in his "yard," to tumble happily about among his favorite "toys," the clothes pins and empty thread spools, which he rolled around the yard in high glee, or sucked and chewed upon with relish.

One morning in March Angella's chores took longer than usual. As hard as she pumped, the water froze before it could fall from the spout, and the barn was full of stock, which had come up from the frozen pastures to the shelter of the sheds. There were twenty or thirty head waiting hungrily for their share of the feed and water, which was generally reserved for the special milking stock and weak stuff interned in the barn. Angella worked hard and valiantly, driving back the greedy steers, and rescuing a half frozen calf, which barely escaped death under the scampering heels.

Upon examining the little creature, she saw that if its life was to be saved she would have to take it to some warmer place than the barn. Throwing together a rough sled made out of a couple of boards, she managed to shove it underneath the motionless animal, and pull the litter with a lariat over the frozen ground to the house.

Jake did not answer her calls to open the door and she had to push it open herself, letting in an icy gust of wind. She tugged and pulled at the sled till it slid into the kitchen, and at last deposited the calf in front of the roaring fire. Breathing heavily from the exertion and holding her sides, she leaned against the table, and suddenly caught sight of Jake lying face downward on the floor. Her first thought was that it was an attack of his periodical convulsions, but a moment later she saw the empty "yard" as well. Her senses reeled; it seemed as though the whole room began to swim around her, as slowly her knees gave way, and for the first time in her life Angella Loring fainted. But it was only for a moment; she came back to consciousness almost at once and crawled on her knees to where Jake, now moaning and moving his head, still lay stretched upon the floor. His contorted face was horribly bruised and deathly pale, and when he opened his eyes the blood ran out of them. She saw then that Jake had been struck down and beaten.

"Him! Him!" gibbered the breed.

"Jake, what has happened? Where's the baby? Oh-h!"

"Bobby—all—a—gone. Him—the Bull take a baby! Him gone away."

Again the universe began to spin about her, but she refused to faint a second time. Feeling her way to the door, Angella Loring went out again into the bitter cold to the barn, where the mare with her new colt whinnied as she slipped the stock saddle across its back. She trapped the colt in an adjoining stall, and then as she got on the mare's back, she whispered:

"Go quickly, Daisy, or you'll not get back to your baby soon."

There was a long snorting whinny from Daisy—a cry of protest at being taken from her colt—indignantly answered by the little one.

The nearest telephone was five miles from Angella's ranch, and when she rode into the farm yard, in spite of the intense cold, the mare was sweating from her wild race across the country. The astonished farmer who led Angella to the 'phone—it was the first time she had been known to step inside any of their houses—stayed by the door and listened with pricked-up ears as the excited woman called Dr. McDermott at Springbank. By a merciful chance he was there, and a few moments later the farmer was helping his strange visitor to a seat, and calling loudly to his wife for help. For again Angella Loring had fainted. Her first question when she opened her eyes and looked up at her neighbors' faces was:

"Has he come? Has Dr. McDermott come?"

And when they replied that he had not, she wrung her hands and broke into weak tears.