“Won’t you take pity on me, Sallie and talk a little?” said Amos, in a low tone. “Who are you, anyway?”
She smiled back at Amos as she replied swiftly:
“Why, Sallie Crawley, don’t you know?”
“Is Crawley your real, true dad?” the boy went on to ask.
“Why, yes, of course; don’t you know that?” she answered.
“I never heard he ever had a wife or child, when he used to work in the lumber camp; and least of all, a girl like you,” Amos went on, growing a little bolder.
“Well, he has,” she replied. “I’m like my mother used to be, because she had yellow hair and blue eyes, dad says. He often looks at me kinder queer, and shakes his head. I guess I make him think he sees her again.”
“Does he take you around everywhere with him?” Amos next asked.
“Oh! no. Sometimes now I stay with my grandmother at the Soo. But dad, he gets lonely once in a while, and comes after me. I always go, ’cause I promised her I’d never, never give him up. And then, dad, he hates to cook for himself—all men do, I guess.”