“Do come, Other Mother. Poor Kitty will wake up then, and feel all right.”
The atmosphere of any house was always uncomfortable to Wahneenah. Even then, she felt as if she had stepped from freedom into prison, cold though she was and half-famished with hunger. Personally, she would rather have taken her bit of food out under the trees; but the thought of her Sun Maid was always powerful to move her. She laid aside the wet blanket, and carried the drowsy little one to the fireside, where the warmth soon revived the child so that she sat up on her foster-mother’s lap, and gazed about her with awakening curiosity. Then she began to smile on Abel, who stood regarding her wonderful loveliness with undisguised amazement, and to prattle to him in her accustomed way.
“Why, you nice, nice man! Isn’t this a pretty place. Isn’t it beau’ful warm? I’m so glad we came. It was cold out of doors, wasn’t it, Other Mother? Did you know all the time what a good warm fire was here? Was that why we came?”
“I knew nothing,” answered Wahneenah, stolidly.
“But I did!” cried Gaspar. “As soon as I saw the smoke of your chimney I said: ‘That is a white man’s house. We will go and stay in it.’ It’s a nice house, sir, and, like Kitty, I am glad we came. Do you live here all alone?”
“No. My wife, Mercy, has gone a visitin’. That’s why I happen to be here doin’ nothin’. I mean—I might have been to the barn an’ not heard you. You’re lookin’ into that cupboard pretty sharp. Be you hungry? But I needn’t ask that. A boy always is.”
“I am hungry. We all are. We haven’t had anything to eat in—days, I guess. Are those pies—regular pies, on the shelves?”
“Yes. Do you like pies?”
“I used to. I haven’t had any since I left the Fort.”