Get you back home, boy.” “Where—why?” “Don’t you know?
Go to your mother.” Then the father said,
“He has no mother.” “What—his mother’s dead?
Then you are all he has.” “That matters not,”
The captive answers, losing not a jot
Of his composure as he closely pressed
The little hands to warm them in his breast.
And says, “Our neighbor, Catherine you know,
Go to her.” “You’ll come too?” “Not yet.” “No, no.
Then I’ll not leave you.” “Why?” “These men, I fear,