PETER.
Peter was thinking. Not that it was an unusual event for Peter to think. Quite the contrary! To Peter himself it seemed that life was one continuous round of thinking and planning and worrying. It certainly was for him, especially since the advent of the baby, that wonderful baby sister of his. Somehow things had not mattered so much before, when there was no one to be considered but himself. Now it was different, with his baby to be thought of and cared for. Peter was worried and anxious. He felt that a great responsibility rested upon his shoulders. They were young shoulders, too, far too young to be burdened with the cares and troubles of life.
The winter wind came tearing down the street, stinging his face and piercing through his thin garments. Shivering, he turned up the collar of his worn and ragged coat and thrust his hands deep into the pockets. Then he hastened on with eyes on the ground and bent down head, for Peter was thinking. A mighty problem confronted him, a problem which must be solved at once.
He turned into the dirty, narrow alley in which he lived, opened the door of a tenement house, and, running quickly up a flight of stairs, entered Mrs. Dempsey's kitchen. The savory odor of frying ham greeted his nostrils and reminded him that he had had nothing to eat since morning. Well, never mind that, he would have supper soon now, he and baby together.
"Bless me, Peter, is that you home so early?" cried cheery Mrs. Dempsey turning around from the stove, frying-pan in one hand, a large fork in the other. "You must have had good luck to-night to be back so early."
Peter caught up in his arms the pretty child who toddled across the floor and threw herself upon him with a shriek of delight. With a gravity befitting his great responsibility, he seated himself upon a nearby chair, holding the baby close to him and smoothing back the tangled yellow curls.
"Yes, Mrs. Dempsey, I had real good luck to-night. Was all sold out long afore the other fellers, then hustled right home to baby. I hope she wasn't no bother to ye, Mrs. Dempsey."
"Bother is it? The darlin', an' she as quiet as a little lamb. It's an angel she is entirely an' ye'd think so yerself if ye could have seen the nice supper of bread and milk she ate along with my own young ones."