He stooped to the little one and held out one long withered finger. The soft baby hand closed on it instantly.
"Did he laugh? I thought he laughed," said the young woman.
A bright smile played on her lips.
"Maybe so, lass."
"Ralphie has never seen the children before, father. Didn't he look frightened—just a little bit frightened—at first, you know? I thought he crept behind my gown."
"Maybe, maybe."
The little one had dropped the hand of his young mother, and, still holding the bony finger of his grandfather, he toddled beside him into the house.
Very cool and sweet was the kitchen, with white-washed walls and hard earthen floor. A table and a settle stood by the window, and a dresser that was an armory of bright pewter dishes, trenchers, and piggins, crossed the opposite wall.
"Nay, but sista here, laal lad," said the old man, and he dived into a great pocket at his side.
"Have you brought it? Is it the kitten? Oh, dear, let the boy see it!"