"Reckon they'll belong to you, Sam," said James Morris, with a faint smile.
"Me! Well, I vum! An old man like me, all alone in the world, with twins! What'll I do with 'em? Answered me thet, will ye?" And he scratched his head in perplexity.
"We can keep them for the present," answered Joseph Morris. "Indeed, I don't think my wife will care to give them up in a hurry. She said this morning the youngsters had taken a tight hold of her heart."
"Ef I had a hum of my own—" began Barringford. "But no, 'tain't right—I ought to find out whar they belong."
"Perhaps you can find out all about them at Bedford, or Fort Loudan, or Annapolis, or Philadelphia," put in James Morris. "Certain it is they belong somewhere."
They had now come to the end of their search and, as there seemed nothing more to do, prepared to return home. The ground was too hard to permit of the burial of the remains of the stranger, and they were placed between some rocks, with other rocks over them, to keep off the wild beasts. Then Joseph Morris marked the nearest tree with a large cross and a question mark—a common sign of those days, showing that somebody unknown had met death in that vicinity.
When the Morris cabin was again reached they found the babies wide awake and cooing contentedly. Mrs. Morris had dressed them up as best she could, and she was holding one while Rodney held the other. Little Nell was dancing around the floor in wild delight.
"Oh, I just love those babies so much!" cried the little miss. "I want mamma to keep them, if nobody comes to take them away."
"Don't want to send them to the poorhouse, then?" questioned her father quizzically.
"To the poorhouse?" she repeated scornfully. "No, indeed!"