There were but two persons present—a wild-looking, dark-haired, bare-footed girl walking the floor: and a child in her arms—a pale, wan baby-boy, with his fair-haired head dropped heavily upon her shoulder, his violet eyes closed, and his long fringed eyelids lying down upon his dead white cheeks. His little clothes were old and faded and patched, but as clean as hands could make them.
As the two men entered the room the girl looked up, pointed to the sleeping child and signed them to be quiet.
It was too late. Poor little Lenny had become a nervous and irritable sleeper. The slightest noise would awaken him. And now the sound of approaching footsteps startled him from his sleep, and he awoke with a shiver. His first words were:
“Doosa tome, Met?”
Then looking up and seeing only two men, he dropped his head upon Meg’s shoulder and wailed forth his disappointment:
“Doosa not tome! Doosa not tome! Lenny want see Doosa! Lenny want to see Doosa so bad!”
“And you shall see Doosa, my darling boy! You shall see Doosa before the sun goes down. You shall sleep on your mother’s bosom to-night, little Lenny!” exclaimed Alexander, in great agitation, as he went to the child and held out his arms.
But Lenny turned away and clasped his own arms around Meg’s neck and renewed his plaintive cry:
“I want to see Doosa! I want to see Doosa so bad! I don’t want anybody esse!”
“And so you shall see Doosa, my beloved boy. Look at me, little Lenny! don’t you know me?” coaxed Alexander.