“No,—yes. They whipped me because I cried and said I hated to stay there, and wanted to come home.”
Salome looked at the soiled, torn clothes, and sorrowful face; and, bursting into tears, she bent forward and drew her brother to her bosom. He put his arms around her neck, and kissed her cheek several times, saying, softly and coaxingly,—
“Sister Salome, you won’t send me back, will you? Please let me stay with you, and I will be a good boy.”
For some minutes she was unable to reply, and wept silently as she smoothed the tangled hair back from the child’s white forehead and pressed her lips to it.
“Stanley, how is Jessie? Where did you leave her?”
“She is well, and I left her at the Asylum. She had a long cry the night I ran away, and said she wanted to see you, and she thought you had forgotten us both. You know, Salome, it is over a year since you came to see us, and Jessie and I are so lonesome there, we hate the place.”
“What were you crying so bitterly about when I found you, just now?”
“I am so hungry, and the man who lives yonder at home drove me away. He said I was prowling around to steal something, and if he saw me there any more he would shoot me. I ate my last piece of biscuit yesterday.”
“Why did you not come to me instead of the miller?”
“I was afraid you would send me back to the Asylum; but you won’t,—I know you won’t, Salome.”