Life's Loaded Die
threads in the worn counterpane. Timmie did not mind not being able to go out, and it did not take him long to learn how to warm the milk. But now and then some stray street-cry would enter the quiet little room, and he would remember his old battles, and the thought of them would fill him with a sickening horror.
Still, in some way, his barbaric little heart warmed to his work, and he did his best to forget, and in time he grew to love the little squalling piece of ever-hungry flesh and blood with a love that was wonderful and beautiful to behold.
It was only natural, then, that following the birth of the Baby there was less bloodshed in the Ward than the oldest inhabitant or even the most vigilant policeman could remember.
But one week after Timmie had completed his wonderful cradle, his father came home, exhaling the odour of gin, and kicked the cradle out into the street. When Timmie's mother, who lay sobbing on her bed, wailed that she had no more money to give him, he
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