Then the young woman began to sniffle.
"Law me, sir," sez the young woman, "I ain't the baby's mother—I 'm only just tendin' it."
The colonel got pretty mad then; his face got red 'nd his voice kind uv trembled—he wuz so mad.
"Where is its mother?" sez the colonel. "Why is n't she here takin' care uv this hungry 'nd cryin' child like she ought to be?"
"She 's in the front car, sir," sez the young woman, chokin' up. "She 's in the front car—in a box, dead; we 're takin' the body 'nd the baby back home."
Now what would you or me have done—what would any man have done then 'nd there? Jest what the colonel done.
The colonel did n't wait for no second thought; he jest reached out his big bony hands 'nd he sez, "Young woman, gi' me that baby"—sez it so quiet 'nd so gentle like that seemed like it wuz the baby's mother that wuz a-speakin'.
The colonel took the baby, and—now, may be you won't believe me—the colonel held that baby 'nd rocked it in his arms 'nd talked to it like it had been his own child. And the baby seemed to know that it lay ag'in' a lovin' heart, for, when it heerd the ol' man's kind voice 'nd saw his smilin' face 'nd felt the soothin' rockin' uv his arms, the baby stopped its grievin' 'nd cryin', 'nd cuddled up close to the colonel's breast, 'nd begun to coo 'nd laff.
The colonel called the nigger. "Jim," sez he, "you go ahead 'nd tell the conductor to stop the train at the first farm-house. We 've got to have some milk for this child—some warm milk with sugar into it; I hain't raised a family uv 'leven children for nothin'."
The baby did n't cry no more that night; leastwise we did n't hear it if it did cry. And what if we had heerd it? Blessed if I don't think every last one of us would have got up to help tend that lonesome little thing.