"You don't say so! All gone? Every cent?"
Cleena nodded. Her face was very grave. It frightened the lad. He glanced toward Hallam, apparently asleep on the settle, and whispered:—
"Where's hers? What she earns?"
"Humph! That little! Well, it's gone. The last week's wage to buy her shoes. Faith, the poor little feet! Steppin' along to her duty with never a turn aside, an' the holes clean through the soles. Oh, me fathers, that ever I should see the day!"
Overcome by her memories of far different circumstances, Cleena bowed her gray head upon her arms above the empty purse and shook in suppressed grief. So faithful was she that she would not have counted even her life of value if by sacrificing it she could have restored unto her "folks" the departed joy and comfort of their house.
Fayette reached over and lifted the purse. He was not satisfied until he had examined it for himself. Then he rose and took the lantern from his hat.
"I'll fetch some," he said briefly, and turned toward the door.
But Hallam had not been so fast asleep as he seemed, and he demanded whither Fayette was bound.
"It's nothin' to worry about, Master Hal. Just a little matter o' business 'twixt me gineral here an' meself. Can't a body wear out her shoes without so much ado?" she asked, thrusting into view her great foot with its still unbroken, stout, calfskin brogan upon it.