and now that she has left him, he is
sadly unsettled. He doesn't know whether to go on and take up the
claim he expected or not. He and you, and the oddly-named little sons,
may all yet have to become wards of the Government."

"I'm very sorry for him."

"You well may be. Yet he's a gentle, blessed old man. No more fit to
marry and bring that flock of youngsters out here into the wilderness
than I am to command an army. She was much younger than he, and felt
the necessity of doing something toward providing for their children
and educating them. But the more I talk, the more I puzzle you. Run
along and lend them a hand. The very smallest Littlejohn of the lot
has filled his mouth with dirt, and is trying to squall it out. See if
a drink of water won't mend matters."

Kitty hastened to the child, and begged;

"My dear, don't cry like that. You are disturbing the people."

"Don't care. I ain't my dear; I'm Four."

"You're what?"

"Just Four. Four Littlejohns. What pretty hair you've got. May I pull
it?"

"I'd rather not. Unless it will make you forget the dirt you ate."

But the permission given, the child became indifferent to it. He
pointed to three other lads crouching against the door-step, and
explained:

"They're One, Two, and Three. My father, he says it saves trouble.
Some folks laugh at us. They say it's funny to be named that way. I
was eating the dirt because I was--I was mad."

"Indeed! At whom?"

"At everybody. I'm just mis'able. I don't care to live no longer."

The round, dimpled face was so exceedingly wholesome and happy,
despite its transient dolefulness, that Kitty laughed and her
merriment brought an answering smile to the four dusty countenances
before her.

"Wull--wull--I is. My father, he's mis'able, too. So, course, we have
to be. He's a minister man. He can't tell stories. He just tells true
ones out the Bible. Can you tell Bible stories?"

"No. I--I'm afraid I don't know much about that book. Mercy had one,
but she kept it in the drawer. She took it out on Sundays, though. She
didn't let Gaspar nor me touch it. She said we might spoil the cover.
That was red. It was a reward of merit when she was a girl. It had
clasps, and was very beautiful. It had pictures in it, too, about
saints and dead folks; but I never read it. I couldn't read it if I
tried, you know, because I've never been taught."

This was amazing to the four book-crammed small Littlejohns. One
exclaimed, with s