“Well, there is always plenty of work in the world for the hands that will do it,” said an officer’s wife, with a kindly smile. “You seem too small to be of much practical use; but, however, if you want a task, there are some little fellows yonder who need amusing and comforting. Their mother has died of a fever, and their father is more of a student and preacher than a nurse. I guess his wife was the ruling spirit in the household, and now that she has left him, he is sadly unsettled. He doesn’t know whether to go on and take up the claim he expected or not. He and you, and the oddly-named little sons, may all yet have to become wards of the Government.”
“I’m very sorry for him.”
“You well may be. Yet he’s a gentle, blessed old man. No more fit to marry and bring that flock of youngsters out here into the wilderness than I am to command an army. She was much younger than he, and felt the necessity of doing something toward providing for their children and educating them. But the more I talk, the more I puzzle you. Run along and lend them a hand. The very smallest Littlejohn of the lot has filled his mouth with dirt, and is trying to squall it out. See if a drink of water won’t mend matters.”
Kitty hastened to the child, and begged;
“My dear, don’t cry like that. You are disturbing the people.”
“Don’t care. I ain’t my dear; I’m Four.”
“You’re what?”
“Just Four. Four Littlejohns. What pretty hair you’ve got. May I pull it?”
“I’d rather not. Unless it will make you forget the dirt you ate.”