In fact, the only sound in the room was the sleepy simmer of the water-
soaked logs, and an occasional giggle from the twins, who were absorbed
in some game which they played with horn buttons on a bit of board,
marked off with chalk into the necessary squares. Once the baby gave a
sweet, low laugh in the midst of his dreams in the cradle, and then
honest Reuben Olmstead turned and smiled towards the little one in a sad
fashion, which made Sara feel the tears near.

"Poor little goslin'!" he said tenderly. "Daddy hopes there'll be
suthin' for him to do not quite so tough as facin' March sou'-westers;
but then, who kin tell? He's a likely little chap, eh, Sairay?"

"Yes, father; he's a dear baby!"

He turned a little, and glanced back at his wife, who stood across the
room reeling off twine, and, hitching his chair a trifle nearer the
girl, said in a lower voice,--

"Sairay, ef 't should ever happen 't they was left to you to look arter,
all three on 'em, would ye be good to the little fellar too, eh?"

"You know I would, father!"

"Waal, waal, yes, I s'posed ye would, Sairay. I really did, naow; only
he ain't jest the same to ye as the twins, to be shore, so I jest thort
I'd ask, thet's all, Sairay." He nodded at her once or twice in a
conciliatory way, then turned back to his fire-gazing for a long moment,
after which he rose stiffly, with a half moan of reluctance.