“Anson Baylay is my name, but I ain’t so terrible; seein’ I feel as weak as a cat, ’cause o’ this thing that’s happened; an’ wi’ ma acryin’ her head off. But ye ain’t tole me yit if ye seen a sign o’ my lettle boy Kinney. Tell me the wost, stranger; I kin stand it; but I sure hate to fetch the news hum to her.”
“Is Kinney a little boy with yellow hair and blue eyes?” asked Phil.
“Yes, yes, that’s him!” gasped the giant, thrusting out a trembling hand and gripping the boy by the arm so that Phil winced.
“Don’t squeeze my arm like that, Baylay,” he said, hastily; “you may not mean to hurt but all the same you do. Tell me, is Kinney tongue-tied, so that he can’t say a word?”
“That’s what he is, mister; but the dearest little cub as ever was born! Does you mean to tell me ye seen him?” cried Baylay.
“Kinney’s safe and sound, Baylay, and I guess that’s the best news you ever had,” Phil hastened to say, for he saw that the man was suffering tortures in his hopes and fears.
With that the giant gave a sigh that must have welled up from his heart. “Is he here with ye, mister?” he managed to ask, tremulously.
“He’s sound asleep in our shack here,” said Phil; “we ran on him in the woods. He had gone out hunting, with his little popgun. When he found himself lost and getting very cold the brave little chap tried the best he knew how to start a fire, but the deep snow kept him from finding the right sort of kindling. He had given up when we ran across him, attracted by his moaning. But we came up just in time.”
“Take me to him, mister, please take me to him. I can’t believe it ’less I see him, and ’less I feel him. I sure thought he was gone away from us forever. And my heart is ahungerin’ for Kinney. We got other kids, but there be only one Kinney!”
Phil could not resist. He knew the big logger would have rushed into the shack anyway, even if he had declined to wake the others up.