She fairly screamed the words, springing to her feet trembling from head to foot.
“Till he was big enough to kick into the streets to shuffle for himself.”
“The scoundrel said he was dead.”
Her voice was far away and sank into dreamy silence. She was living the hideous, lonely years again with a heart starved for love.
Jim's voice broke the spell:
“Then you didn't desert him?” The man's eyes held hers steadily.
She stared at him blankly and spoke with rushing indignation:
“Desert him—my baby—my own flesh and blood? There's never been a minute since I looked into his eyes that I wouldn't 'a' died fur him.”
She paused and sobbed.
“He had such pretty eyes, stranger. They looked like your'n—only they wuz puttier and bluer.”