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 his mother who had searched for him all his life. He dared not even touch her as she lay there in stupor, battling with death; but he sank to his knees beside her.

"Mother, I said," he whispered, "I said before ever I knew who you were that I never saw a finer face. That was when I saw you only in the portrait. I never forgot that night you came to the camp; Mother! But you were not even then as fine as now. You could do no wrong; you never did wrong! I always knew it; my mother!"

In his ecstasy, triumph came to him,—triumph over all those who, throughout his life, had pitied him for his birth, condemning his mother without knowledge. Always, even when a little boy, Barney had absolved her from sin; as yet he understood no more; indeed, all that he had learned had made the manner of his birth more perplexing to him; but now he knew in his heart that as he had always had faith, his mother had done no wrong.

Some one was opening the door, and Barney gently, arose; but for a moment more, he bent over his mother. So softly as not possibly to stir her, he brought his lips to her hair; then, turning, he confronted a doctor and the nurse. Something was to be done; and Barney withdrew to a vacant room where alone he awaited the result.

Part of the time he prayed for life for his mother, now praying mutely, as in war he had learned to pray, communing with the great, impersonal Imbuement of Life and Good to give his mother strength and to restore her; and then he prayed like a little boy, in the frightened, imploring petition to the jealous I am the Lord, Thy God,—to the Kijé-Manito of his child-