“Wal, ’tain’t a bad thing fer her she’s got some un to stan’ by her; gals needs it.”
Tom gave her a long look too. She was sleeping very quietly; it might have been her mother’s breast she was lying against.
“Well,” he said, “here’s a man to stand by her,” and then he raised his head and looked at the rest of them.
“Boys,” he said, “that’s a promise. Remember it.”
And he carried her back.
CHAPTER VI
The rooms at the back had never seemed so quiet before as when, at the close of the day, he went into them. They seemed all the quieter by contrast with the excitement of the past hours. In the kitchen Mornin was giving the final touches to the supper, and in the room which was at once sitting-room and bedroom, the wooden cradle had fitted itself in a corner near the fireplace and wore an air of permanent establishment remarkable to contemplate when one considered how unlooked-for an incident it was.
On the threshold of this apartment Tom paused a moment. Such silence reigned that he could hear the soft, faint breathing of the child as it lay asleep. He stopped a second or so to listen to it. Then he stooped down, and began to loosen his shoes gently. As he was doing it, Mornin caught sight of him in passing the open door.