"See here, it'll rest me to hold that little chap. I'm all right. My hands is frosted some, an' my ears, that's all, but my breath is gittin' back. Come on, now," he pleaded.
Bert surrendered the child, who looked up into the bearded face of the rough fellow, then rested her head on his breast, and went to sleep at last. It made his heart thrill as he felt her little head against his breast. He never had held a child in his arms before.
"Say, Bert, reckon I'm a purty fair picture of a fam'ly man, now, eh? Throw in a couple o' twists more o' hay—"
Bert stirred up the fire.
"Well, now the little one is off, what's up over to the Norsk's? Wha' d'ye bring the child for?" he asked at last.
"Because she was the only livin' soul in the shanty."
"What?" His face was set in horror.
"Fact."
"Where's the Norsk?"
"I don't know. On the prairie somewhere."