“Suppose I had not happened to hear you crying,—what would have become of you? Did you intend to starve here in the swamp?”
“I thought I would wait till the miller left home, and then beg his wife to give me some bread, and, if I could get nothing, I was going to pull up some carrots that I saw growing in a field back of the house. Oh, Salome, I am so hungry and so tired!”
She sat down on a heap of last year’s leaves, which autumn winds and winter rains had driven against the trunk of a decayed 41 and fallen sweet-gum, and, drawing the weary head with its shock of matted yellow curls to her lap, she covered her own face with her hands to hide the hot tears that streamed over her cheeks.
“Salome, are you very mad with me?”
“Yes, Stanley; you have behaved very badly, and I don’t know what I ought to do with you.”
He tried to put aside one of her shielding hands, and failing, wound his arms around her waist, and nestled as close as possible.
“Sister, please let me stay and live with you, and I promise—I declare—I will be a good boy.”
“Poor little fellow! You don’t in the least know what you are talking about. How can you live with me when I have no home, and not a dollar?”
“I thought you stayed with a rich lady, and had everything nice that you wanted.”
“I do not expect to have even a shelter much longer. The lady who takes care of me is sick, and cannot live very long; and, when she dies, I don’t know where I shall go or what I may be obliged to do.”