Her voice sank to a pathetic cadence that pierced my heart.
"Oh, no, don't wish that!" I cried earnestly. "And there are some curious stories about Chicago—sad ones, too. We will go to old Fort Dearborn. And for a good many years one man lived here all alone, and LaSalle and Joliet and travellers went to and fro and left romances in their steps. We will hunt them up some day. But I must clean the fish. Oh, what nice plump fellows!"
"How good you are. I shall like to see those places. I like stories." Her face was aglow with interest. The potatoes were boiling splendidly. I poked in some rough pieces of wood to make another bed of coals, then I addressed myself to the fish and soon had them in frying order. But certainly I must have some salted pork.
I ran down the street a short distance and begged some from a neighbor. Then I drew out the coals and we soon had a savory fragrance.
"Oh, how delicious!" Her eyes fairly shone with pleasure.
Mr. Gaynor came in, his face piquantly wrinkled with expectation.
"I shall have to hire you for cook, my lad," he exclaimed in a joyous tone. "I'm hungry as a bear in March."
"Why March particularly?" I asked.
"When he wakes out of his winter's nap."
"And he doesn't need any table," said the Little Girl glancing about in a lugubrious fashion, with the corners of her mouth quivering.