her tired, lined face, he leaned forward and touched her shoulder kindly.
"I didn't mean that," he apologized. "I'm half crazy, I think. You've been as good as gold, and even when I've paid you the money I owe you, I'll owe you more than I can ever pay. I know that. And you're New England, too."
His sudden softening encouraged the woman, and she looked appealingly up at him, while she patted the bundle on her lap.
"Folks have hearts in New England, Mr. Williston," she began, "and if you was to go to her folks or write to 'em, I guess you'd find—oh, couldn't you?"
His impatient hand checked her.
"He might grow up to be a real comfort to you," she murmured persistently, "and you could look out for him well enough, once you get started. Just see how smart you are, Mr. Williston—look at that prize you got; she was awful proud of it."
His face twisted painfully.
"I looked out for her well, didn't I?" he said coldly, "I was a 'good provider,' as they say
