“I have one lamb called Hannah,” drily. “Two lambs of that calibre in my pasture would be running their heads together.”
“I have a family of orphans coming to me next week,” Stargarde went on. “Zeb will be furious. She hates other children. Brian, for Christ’s sake save this little child.”
Camperdown shook himself with impatience. “Suppose I got her, who would take care of her?”
“Old Mrs. Trotley; you know she is the last survivor of one of the oldest families of Halifax, a dear, gentle, old lady. Everything has failed her; she has just given up her little shop——”
“So you want to foist her in on me?”
“Brian, you were railing against the city the other day for not taking better care of the children of the poor. Now, here you are not willing to do your duty by one of them.”
“You are an impracticable schemer. Stargarde, I wish you could see how beautiful your hair is against that black jug.”
She paid no attention to the latter part of his speech. “Well, Brian, will you do this at least for me? Go to Zeb’s mother and ask her if she won’t give the child up to me. Any reasonable arrangement I am willing to make. They are not fit people to have the custody of a young girl, and if all else fails, remind her that I shall appeal to the law which takes children from unworthy guardianship. I ask you to do this because the woman avoids me strangely, and will not speak to me.”
“When shall I go?”
“Any time, but soon.”