The little fellow walked up to the man at the desk. Mr. Martin, the proprietor, turned around. "Good morning, little man. Did you want to see me?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. I want a wrap for my mama. I can make fires and pay for it."
"What is your name, my boy?"
"Paul May."
"Is your father living?"
"No, sir; he died when we lived in Louisville."
"How long have you lived here?"
"We haven't been here long. Mama was sick in Louisville, and the doctor told her to go away, and she would get well."
"Is she better?"
"Yes, sir. Last Sunday she wanted to go to church, but she didn't have any wrap, and she cried. She didn't think I saw her, but I did. She says I'm her little p'tector since papa died. I can make fires and pay for a wrap."