quivered, and again he floundered out, stammering like an idiot, "But I love him, ma'am, more nor all the world."
"Then I'll thank you to keep him," she answered hotly; and after that there was silence for a moment.
In all Stephen's reckoning never once had he counted on this—that after he had brought himself to that sore pass, at which he could part with Sunlocks and turn his back on him, never more to be cheered by his sunny face and merry tongue, never again to be wakened by him in the morning, never to listen for his gentle breathing in the night, never to feed him and wash him, never to carry him shoulder high, any human creature could say no to him from thought of the little food he would eat, or the little trouble he would ask.
Stephen stood a moment, with his poor, bewildered face hung down and the great lumps surging hot in his throat, and then without a word more he stretched out his hand towards the child.
But all this time Adam had looked on with swimming eyes, and now he drew little Sunlocks yet closer between his knees, and said quietly, "Ruth, we are going to keep the little one. Two faggots will burn better than one, and this sweet boy will be company for our little Greeba."
"Adam," she cried, "haven't you children enough of your own, but you must needs take other folks'?"
"Ruth," he answered, "I have six sons, and if they had been twelve, perhaps, I should have been better pleased, so they had all been as strong and hearty; and I have one daughter, and if there had been two it would have suited me as well."
Now, the rumour of Stephen Orry's former marriage, which 'Liza had so zealously set afoot, had reached Government House by way of Lague; and while Stephen had spoken Adam had remembered the story, and thinking of it he had smoothed the head of little Sunlocks with a yet tenderer hand. But Adam's wife, recalling it too, said warmly, "Maybe you think it wise to bring up your daughter with the merry-begot of any ragabash that comes prowling along from goodness knows where."
"Ruth," said Adam, as quietly as before, "we are going to keep the little one," and at that his wife rose and walked out of the room.
The look of bewilderment had not yet been driven from Stephen Orry's face by the expression of joy that had followed it, and now he stood glancing from Adam to the door, and from
