rags. Come on, Sam, let me look and I’ll put some rags round it. Come along.”
She took the child and stripped him of his grotesque garments. Trip had given him a sharp grab on the thigh before he had realised that he was dealing with a little boy. It was not much, however, and Lettie soon had it bathed, and anointed with elderflower ointment. On the boy’s body were several scars and bruises—evidently he had rough times. Lettie tended to him and dressed him again. He endured these attentions like a trapped wild rabbit—never looking at us, never opening his lips—only shrinking slightly. When Lettie had put on him his torn little shirt, and had gathered the giant breeches about him, Emily went to him to coax him and make him at home. She kissed him, and talked to him with her full vibration of emotional caress. It seemed almost to suffocate him. Then she tried to feed him with bread and milk from a spoon, but he would not open his mouth, and he turned his head away.
“Leave him alone—take no notice of him,” said Lettie, lifting him into the chimney seat, with the basin of bread and milk beside him. Emily fetched the two kittens out of their basket, and put them too beside him.
“I wonder how many eggs he’d got,” said the father, laughing softly.
“Hush!” said Lettie. “When do you think you will go to Canada, Mr. Saxton?”
“Next spring—it’s no good going before.”
“And then you’ll marry?” asked Lettie of George.
