unfolded the coat. The man and the woman looked down together, in
silence, at the child. He had some foolish hope that she would take it,
that his part was ended. Like an outlandish doll, with face contorted
and thick-lidded eyes shut tightly against the sunshine, the outcast
whimpered, too near the point of death for even the rebellion of
arms and legs.

The woman in the saddle gave a short, incredulous cry. Her face, all gay
curiosity, had darkened in a shock of disgust.

"What in the world!" she scolded. "Oh! Such a nasty little--Why
did--What do you propose doing with it?"

Rudolph shook his head, like a man caught in some stupid blunder.

"I never thought of that," he explained heavily. "She has no--no
friends."

"Cover it," his companion ordered. "Cover it up. I can't bear to see
it."

With a sombre, disappointed air, he obeyed; then looked up, as if in her
face he read strange matter.

"I can't bear," she added quickly, "to see any kind of suffering. Why
did--It's all my fault for sending you! We were having such a good ride
together, and now I've spoiled it all, with this.--Poor little filthy
object!" She turned her hands outward, with a helpless, dainty gesture.
"But what can we do? These things happen every day."