me--just
grinning at it like a fool--and yer own doin'. Have ye forgot how to
talk?"

Tom grinned the more, but was saved the effort of a reply by a loud noise
from the bundle.

"Here's another," cried Mrs. Cowan to me. "Ye needn't act as if it was
an animal. Faith, yereself was like that once, all red an' crinkled.
But I warrant ye didn't have the heft," and she lifted it, judicially.
"A grand baby," attacking Tom again, "and ye're no more worthy to be his
father than Davy here."

Then I heard a voice calling me, and pushing past Mrs. Cowan, I ran into
the cabin. Polly Ann lay on the log bedstead, and she turned to mine a
face radiant with a happiness I had not imagined.

"Oh, Davy, have ye seen him? Have ye seen little Tom? Davy, I reckon
I'll never be so happy again. Fetch him here, Mrs. Cowan."

Mrs. Cowan, with a glance of contempt at Tom and me, put the bundle
tenderly down on the coarse brown sheet beside her.

Poor little Tom! Only the first fortnight of his existence was spent in
peace. I have a pathetic memory of it all--of our little home, of our
hopes for it, of our days of labor and nights of planning to make it
complete. And then, one morning when the three of us were turning over
the black loam in the patch, while the baby slept peacefully in the
shade, a sound came to our ears that made us pause and listen with bated
breath. It was the sound of many guns, muffled in the distant forest.
With a cry Polly Ann flew to the hickory cradle under the tree, Tom
sprang for the rifle that was never far from his side, while with a kind
of instinct I ran to catch the spancelled horses by the river. In
silence and sorrow we fled through the tall cane, nor dared to take one
last look at the cabin, or the fields lying black in the spring sunlight.
The shots had ceased, but ere we had reached the little clearing McCann
had made they began again, though as distant as before. Tom went ahead,
while I led the mare and Polly Ann clutched the child to her breast. But
when we came in sight of the fort across the clearings the gates were
closed. There was nothing to do but cower in the thicket, listening
while the battle went on afar, Polly Ann trying to still the cries of the
child, lest they should bring death upon us. At length the shooting
ceased; stillness reigned; then came a faint halloo, and out of the
forest beyond us a man rode, waving his hat at the fort. After him came
others. The gates opened, and we rushed