ed to speak to Cash. "I
wish I knew where he came from. He wants his mother."

Cash stirred a little, like a sleeper only half awakened. But he did not
reply, and Bud gave an impatient snort, tiptoed over and picked up the
discarded clothes of Lovin Child, that held still a faint odor of wood
smoke and rancid grease, and, removing his shoes that he might move
silently, went to work.

He washed Lovin Child's clothes, even to the red sweater suit and the
fuzzy red "bunny" cap. He rigged a line before the fireplace--on his
side of the dead line, to be sure--hung the little garments upon it and
sat up to watch the fire while they dried.

While he rubbed and rinsed and wrung and hung to dry, he had planned the
details of taking the baby to Alpine and placing it in good hands there
until its parents could be found. It was stolen, he had no doubt at
all. He could picture quite plainly the agony of the parents, and common
humanity imposed upon him the duty of shortening their misery as much
as possible. But one day of the baby's presence he had taken, with
the excuse that it needed immediate warmth and wholesome food. His
conscience did not trouble him over that short delay, for he was honest
enough in his intentions and convinced that he had done the right thing.

Cash had long ago undressed and gone to bed, turning his back to the
warm, fire-lighted room and pulling the blankets up to his ears. He
either slept or pretended to sleep, Bud did not know which. Of the
baby's healthy slumber there was no doubt at all. Bud put on his
overshoes and went outside after more wood, so that there would be no
delay in starting the fire in the morning and having the cabin warm
before the baby woke.

It was snowing fiercely, and the wind was biting cold. Already the
woodpile was drifted under, so that Bud had to go back and light the
lantern and hang it on a nail in the cabin wall before he could make
any headway at shovelling off the heaped snow and getting at the wood
beneath. He worked hard for half an hour, and carried in all the wood
that had been cut. He even piled Cash's end of the hearth high with the
surplus, after his own side was heaped full.

A storm like that meant that plenty of fuel would be needed to keep the
cabin snug and warm, and he was thinking of the baby's comfort now, and
would not be hampered by any grudge.

When he had done everything he could do that would add to the baby's
comfort, he folded the little gar