It was an unusual demonstration, but Shawe showed no particular surprise; everything being a little out of the ordinary that night. He grasped the extended hand warmly, then let it drop, and turned away, bending again for a moment over the sleeping child.
“Wish I were going to hear her laugh over the stocking,” he said half to himself.
“Got a wife an’ fambly?” Jerome asked.
“No,” the other returned.
“Thought mebbe ye hed, ’count o’ yer thinkin’ how the mother’d feel—mebbe ye hed oncet.”
“Yes,” Shawe answered shortly.
“Then ye know how turr’ble masterful the kids are. Strange, ain’t it? Mine hed got so ez he could patty-cake, ye understan’. Lord! there warn’t never a sight like it—never. Thought fust ’twas a kinder fool thing the mother’d learned it; but bless yer! I didn’t think so long; ’twas the purties’ sight—
“‘Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker’s man—’”
Shawe moved cautiously across the room, and paused at the door to look back at the old man softly clapping his palms together. Something in his glance recalled Jerome to a sense of his surroundings; he got up in his turn and joined his companion.
“Ye’ll keep an eye out fer them deers, won’t yer?” he whispered anxiously. “Christmus Eve they all kneel in the woods an’ look up to he’vin, ye know. Thet’s Injin talk ’roun’ here from way back; some o’ the oldest fellers swear their folks seed the thing done. Can’t say ’xactly ez I b’lieve it myself, but ’twould be a purty sight—an’ anyways, ye jes’ watch out. Wal, luck to ye, lad, luck to ye.”