"So ye comed, Lon," she said.

"Course! Did Eli get here with the other brat?"

"Yep, there 'tis. And he's been squalling for the whole night and day.
He wanted the other little 'un, I'm a thinkin'."

"Yep," answered Lon somberly, "and he wants his mammy, too. But, as I
telled ye before, she's dead."

"Be ye reely goin' to live to hum, Lon?" queried the old woman eagerly.

"Yep. And ye'll get all ye want to eat if ye'll take care of the kids.
Be ye glad to have me stay to hum?"

"Yep, I'm glad," replied the mother, with a pathetic droop to her
shriveled lips.

Just then the child on the cot turned over and sat up. The small,
tear-stained face was creased with dirt and molasses. Bits of bread
stuck between fingers that gouged into a pair of gray eyes flecked with
brown. Noting strangers, he opened his lips and emitted a forlorn wail.
The other baby, in the man's arms, lifted a bonny dark head with a jerk.

For several seconds the babies eyed each other. Two pairs of brown-shot
eyes, alike in color and size, brightened, and a wide smile spread the
four rosy lips.

"Flea! Flea!" murmured the baby on the bed; and "Flukey!" gurgled the
infant in Lon's arms.