think any harm o' Bob. But we'll show'm, Lizzie."
It was a mistake. There were no signs of a little baby with a smile yet.
"Well, why did he come away for?" asked Lizzie.
"She left him," said Billy.
"Well, wasn't he rid of her?"
"No," said Billy, "she took him to court for desertin' her, and made him pay to keep 'er, an' when 'e couldn't pay she put him in gaol. An' if he goes back without all the money he didn't send 'er, she'll put 'im in gaol again."
"But how could she do that if she ran away from him?" asked Lizzie. "Y' talkin' nonsense."
"God forgive Billy! It's the way the law is out there," said Billy. "Now, don't you understand?"
But Lizzie said she didn't understand it at all.
"His talk won't do you no harm," said little Billy with resentful pride in his friend. The tall man without the smile, who didn't talk, could speak earnestly on occasion. Maybe he had once been earnest. He could speak sincerely and sympathetically and kindly of the troubles of others—no doubt he had been sincere, sympathetic and practically kind. Such a man could talk love and seem true, even to a self-loving and vanity-blinded woman. Perhaps he had once been true. He could speak quietly, strongly and very decisively in a misunderstanding, no matter on whose side, and be very impressive. Maybe he had once been a dangerous man in anger. He could make it appear, without saying so, that he had been through more trouble than most
