tremble--he staggered and fell into a chair, hiding his face, shaking
from head to foot in an agony of weeping. Tom made his way to him and
bent over him.

"Come with me," he said, his great voice broken. "Come with me into the
air, it will quiet you, and we can wait until--until they come."

He put his arm under his and supported him out of the house.

Two or three women began to rock themselves to and fro and weep aloud
hysterically. It was only the stronger ones who could control themselves.
He was standing at Tom's side then; when they came out a short time
afterwards, walking slowly and carrying the light burden, which they
lowered into its resting-place beneath the pines.

He was quite calm again, and made no sound or movement until all was
over. Then he spoke to Tom.

"Tell them," he said, "that I thank them. I can do no more."

He walked back to the desolate house, and in a little while the people
went their ways, each of them looking back a little wistfully at the
cabin as he or she rode out of sight.

When the last one was lost to view, Tom, who had loitered about, went
into the cabin.

The man was sitting in the empty room, his gaze fixed upon the two chairs
left standing in the middle of it a few paces from each other.

Tom moved them away and then approached him.

"The child has been taken to my house," he said. "You don't want to see
it?"

"No."

"Is there anything else I can do?"

"No, nothing else," monotonously.

"Are you going away?"

"Yes--to-night."

Tom glanced around him at the desolation of the poor, bare little place,
at the empty bed, and the small trunk at the foot of it.

"You are not going to stay here alone, man?" he said.

"Yes," he was answered. "I have something to do; I must be alone."

Tom hesitated a moment.

"Well," he said, at length, "I suppose I've done, then. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," he was answered. "The Lord--the Lord will reward you."

And then Tom crossed the room slowly and reluctantly, passed out, and
closed the door after him.

* * * * *

When he opened his own door, he struck his foot against something and
stumbled over it. It was a primitive wooden cradle--somewhat like a box
on rockers--a quilt of patchwork covered it, and upon the small pillow
rested the round black head of his new possession. He stopped short to
regard it. Aunt Mornin had left it there while she occupied herself with
preparing s