Old Jerome’s hand fluttered above the little head, half fell to it, then was drawn reluctantly back.
“Ye-es, they’d orter know,” he said dully, “but how? Who is she?” He shifted his position, averting his eyes. “I’ve be’n thinkin’ thet p’r’aps she’s nobut a little Christmus sperit come to cheer us in this God forsook spot—”
“That’s nonsense, man. Look at her sleeping there as human as we are, though with a difference. I tell you she has kith and kin, and their hearts are bleeding for her at this moment. I’m going to find them—”
“Ye sha’n’t take her with yer, Shawe,” the old man whimpered. “I’ll roust up the others, an’ they’ll fight yer—I—I can’t; she’s made me too trembly. But ye sha’n’t take her.”
“You’re crazy! I’d no thought of taking her. It’s colder than charity outside, and the frost is like a badger’s tooth. Besides, it must be almost thirty miles to Wistar, and there’s no house nearer, is there? No, I go by myself.”
“An’ ef ye don’t win through—there’s thet chanst.”
“I don’t—that’s all. But I’m not hopeless—I’ve got to win through.”
“Best wait till mornin’,” Jerome said, after the silence between them had grown unbearable, “p’r’aps somebody’ll be goin’ by from Merle, an’ ye could git a lift, or p’r’aps her folks’ll come from somewhars—Ye don’ know whar she come from, anyways,” he finished triumphantly.
“We worked out the sum that she came with that man Terry. Everything she said about Santa Claus fitted him like a glove, you—who know him—say. And he came from Wistar, so she belongs there. Perhaps her people didn’t miss her till late; and what traces would she leave if she came on in his sleigh? Answer me that. How would they ever dream of searching for her up here when there’s the river—Good God! a child like that wouldn’t notice the spruce bush signals put up where the ice is thin; and there are the open water-holes by the barns—” He stopped with a deep intake of breath, and moved nearer the fire; Jerome, watching him furtively, saw that he was fully dressed to go out.
“Wal!” he muttered slowly, after a time, “ef ye be so sot on goin’, ye’re goin’, I s’pose. P’r’aps ye’re right. Somehow I was only thinkin’ from my side, an’ hedn’t got ’roun’ to the mother’s; mebbe an ol’ codger like me never would ha’ got ’roun’—can’t say. Here’s my hand.”