His head drooped at the grave tone, and Molly choked back something she was about to say.

"Could you really bear to see that little darling suffer, Morton? You know you couldn't! We all know he never meant to do such mischief. Look at his innocent little face this minute; could you see it grow thin and pale for lack of the food he craves?"

Morton gave one look, and melted.

"I didn't really mean it," he stammered; "only I'm awful hungry, Sara."

"My brave soldier! I know you are. But you're going to be the help and standby of us all till father comes home. I'll bake the potatoes to-day, you like them so, and you may have a wee bit of baby's milk to eat with them."

This appeal was not lost. The boy straightened up proudly. "Well, give me the goose," he said resolutely; "I'll take it to Mrs. Norris. I saw company driving up as I came by, so I guess she'd like it."

Molly made no remonstrance to this, except to draw down her round face to a doleful length, and drawl out a ridiculous wail common among the sailors,—

"'I'm bound away to leave you—
Good-by, my love, good-by!
I never will deceive you
No never, Mary Ann!'"

which she pointed by giving the stiffened foot of the defunct goose a last fond shake in farewell. So it was with laughter and good feeling, after all, that their dinner for that day was renounced.

But the little episode had given each a spirit of self-sacrifice, which was to help them through many hard times, while it had put an idea into Morton's head that he was not slow to act upon.