THE STEADFAST HEART
Mary looked again at Angus, this time with eyes wide with astonishment. “Oh,” she cried, “this nice-looking boy! Impossible. He never hurt a flea. I won’t believe it.”
“He killed a sheriff,” said Dave, and watched her face intently.
“Poor little fellow. Poor little fellow…. I want so to help—to help be good to him. What can I do, Mr. Wilkins?” Then to Angus, before Dave could reply, “I like your eyes and I like your cheeks, and you have a nice mouth. I want you to be friends with me. Will you?”
Angus shook his head in the slow, uncertain fashion which was habitual to him. “I dunno,” he said.
“I wonder—you know I have a class of boys in Sunday school, Mr. Wilkins. Would he like to come?”
Dave smiled dryly. “I don't calc’late he’s had much experience in Sunday schools…. But how about the daddies and mothers of the ones you’ve got, eh? Think they’d be tickled to death to see a small goat herded with their lambs? Better inquire around a bit and settle that point first.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort. If other boys don’t want to sit in class with this little fellow they can stay away; and if fathers and mothers are afraid he’ll hurt their darlings, why let them
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