"Good gracious!" gasped Hugh, starting to his feet, "that is bad; do you know," he added, turning to Tom and speaking with a slight tremor, "that that little girl Dollie is about the age my Jennie was when she died?"
"I hadn't thought of that," replied Tom.
"And," continued Hugh, swallowing a lump in his throat, "she looks so much like Jennie that I've often felt as if I would give all I have—which ain't much—to hold the little one on my knee as I used to hold my baby. She is a sweet child and likes me; we've had many a talk together that no one beside us knows about. She's so gentle, so innocent, so good that it seems to me I see my own darling before me when she looks up in my face. Come, boys," he added, decisively, as he walked to the farther end of the room, picked up a lantern and lit the candle inside.
"Come where?" asked Tom, in amazement.
Hugh turned half angrily toward him.
"Do you think that I could rest while that child is lost in the mountains? Mr. Bradley hasn't acted right toward us and I bear him no good will, but this isn't he—it's a little child—she looks and acts like my Jennie, that's dead and gone."
"But, Hugh, you forget—what about the place?"
"Let it go to the dogs for all I care! What does it amount to against the life of the little one? But we'll let Jack stay; if any of the boys come, send them out to help in the hunt; it'll do them more good than to break the law."
"Suppose some that are strangers come?" said Jack with a grin.
Hugh O'Hara gave a hollow laugh.