"Where to?"
"Come; I show you what strike does. You come home with me, you see what strike does."
Without waiting for the boy to assent, Olsen, with his grip still on Steve's shoulder, started, fairly dragging the Iron Boy along with him.
Rush no longer offered any resistance. Something about the Icelander impressed the boy strongly. There was a note of hopelessness in the man's tone, though his face was impassive, which told Steve that the fellow was suffering great mental anguish.
"You need not hang to my shoulder, Olsen. I will go with you if you want me to," said the boy in a kindly tone.
But Segunder gave no heed. He held tightly to Steve's shoulder. The two hurried on, the Icelander taking long strides. He led the way to the outskirts of the village, coming to a halt before a dilapidated, one-storied cottage, the door of which Olsen pushed open, thrusting Steve Rush in. Olsen followed, closing the door.
A solitary candle furnished all the light there was in the room. There was no fire in the stove, though the weather was cold, the snow falling early in that far northern region.
A woman sat holding a baby close to her to give the child some of the warmth from her own body. She was pale and thin, but Steve noted that her eyes lighted up as they fixed themselves upon the face of Olsen.
On a bed lay a girl of some ten years. The child was thin and emaciated, and the Iron Boy saw at once that she was in a high fever.
"Him make strike," announced Olsen, pointing to Steve Rush.