ment.' But it looks kinder logy and
stupid."

North freezingly admitted that he had given the infant whisky as a
stimulant.

"You did? Come, now, that ain't so looney after all. Well, I'll take
the baby, and when Dad comes home we'll see what can be done."

North hesitated. His dislike of the woman was intense, and yet he knew
no one else and the baby needed instant care. Besides, he began to see
the ludicrousness of his making a first call on his neighbors with a
foundling to dispose of. She saw his hesitation, and said,--

"Ye don't know me, in course. Well, I'm Bessy Robinson, Trinidad Joe
Robinson's daughter. I reckon Dad will give me a character if you want
references, or any of the boys on the river."

"I'm only thinking of the trouble I'm giving you, Miss Robinson, I
assure you. Any expense you may incur--"

"Young man," said Bessy Robinson, turning sharply on her heel, and
facing him with her black brows a little contracted, "if it comes to
expenses, I reckon I'll pay you for that baby, or not take it at all.
But I don't know you well enough to quarrel with you on sight. So
leave the child to me, and, if you choose, paddle down here to-morrow,
after sun up--the ride will do you good--and see it, and Dad thrown in.
Good by!" and with one powerful but well-shaped arm thrown around the
child, and the other crooked at the dimpled elbow a little
aggressively, she swept by James North and entered a bedroom, closing
the door behind her.

When Mr. James North reached his cabin it was dark. As he rebuilt his
fire, and tried to rearrange the scattered and disordered furniture,
and remove the debris of last night's storm, he was conscious for the
first time of feeling lonely. He did not miss the child. Beyond the
instincts of humanity and duty he had really no interest in its welfare
or future. He was rather glad to get rid of it, he would have
preferred to some one else, and yet SHE looked as if she were
competent. And then came the reflection that since the morning he had
not once thought of the woman he loved. The like had never occurred in
his twelvemonth solitude. So he set to work, thinking of her and of
his sorrows, until the word "Looney," in connection with his suffering,
flashed across his memory. "Looney!" It was not a nice word. It
suggested something less than insanity; something that might happen to
a common, unintellectual sort of person. He remembered the loon, an
ungainly feath