"And, even though having just failed in business, you took upon yourself the care of a child?"
"I couldn't do anything else, aunt Dorcas. There she was, an' somebody had to do it."
"You're a dear, good boy," and, leaning across the table, aunt Dorcas patted one of Joe's hands, almost affectionately. "Where is the little creature now?"
"We hired an old German woman down in Weehawken to take care of her for a week, an' paid a dollar. You see the fellers lent us some cash when we came away."
"But what made you leave, Joseph, if you were convinced it would be impossible to earn any money in the country?"
"You see, we had to, when—"
Joe ceased speaking very suddenly. He could not bring himself to explain to aunt Dorcas exactly why they had left New York, fearing lest she would not believe him when he declared he was innocent of having committed any crime, and it seemed to him it would be worse than any ordinary lie to tell this kindly little woman that which was not strictly true.
He hesitated, made several vain attempts at an explanation, and finally said, his cheeks reddening with shame:
"I'd rather not tell you about that part of it, aunt Dorcas; but I didn't do anything that wasn't jest straight, though all of 'em believe I did."
The little woman thought she understood something of the situation, and, once more caressing Joe's hand, said, kindly: