She commenced to think about her soul and wonder when it would leave her body, and whether it would soar to that bright blue, hot, pitiless sky above. Then she fell asleep, and when Jim Dennis came out of his cottage with the little chap in his arms he stumbled over her.
Jim Dennis did not curse or swear or tell this outcast to 'get out.'
He put the little chap down, who was then three years old, and picked up the sleeping woman. He carried her on to the verandah—he was a big, powerful fellow—and then he went inside, dragged out his own mattress and put her on to it.
The little chap watched him with wondering eyes, and commenced to make three-year-old remarks, such as 'Who's that, daddy? Pitty woman. Whoo's seepy, daddy,' and so on.
Jim Dennis brought water and moistened her lips. Then he stood watching her.
Sal slept right through the night, and when she came round in the morning she saw Jim Dennis before her with the child in his arms. She rubbed her eyes and looked at them. Then she explained what had happened, and Jim said,—
'You can stay here and look after the little chap. Will you?'
Her big brown eyes glistened, and, weak as she was she stretched out her hands for the child.
Jim put him down, and, after a moment's hesitation, he toddled towards her.
From that day, three years ago, black Sal had been devoted to the little boy. In her wild, half-tamed way she loved him more than anything on earth.