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 ever do that. He has his own place, my dear, wee man-child. But little Joy has hers, and always will have it. If she had lived she would have been over a year old. She would have been toddling around on her tiny feet and lisping a few words. I can see her so plainly, Marilla. Oh, I know now that Captain Jim was right when he said God would manage better than that my baby would seem a stranger to me when I found her Beyond. I’ve learned that this past year. I’ve followed her development day by day and week by week—I always shall. I shall know just how she grows from year to year—and when I meet her again I’ll know her—she won’t be a stranger. Oh, Marilla, look at his dear, darling toes! Isn’t it strange they should be so perfect?”

“It would be stranger if they weren’t,” said Marilla crisply. Now that all was safely over, Marilla was herself again.

“Oh, I know—but it seems as if they couldn’t be quite finished, you know—and they are, even to the tiny nails. And his hands—just look at his hands, Marilla.”

“They appear to be a good deal like hands,” Marilla conceded.

“See how he clings to my finger. I’m sure he knows me already. He cries when the nurse takes him away. Oh, Marilla, do you think—you don’t think, do you—that his hair is going to be red?”

“I don’t see much hair of any color,” said Marilla.