He was a tall man about double the height of his stout wife.

"John, honey," said the little stout woman, "yere's the queerest
story. Two mites, all alone, with only a dog belonging to them;
father dead, mother dead, and they asks ef that's Jesus playing the
organ, and they wants a night's lodging, and I have the kindest face.
Hark to the rogues! and will I give it to 'em? What say you, John?"

"What say _you_, Molly? Have you room for 'em, old girl?"

"The house is small," said the woman, "but there _is_ the
little closet back of our bedroom, and Susie's mattress lying vacant.
I could make 'em up tidy in that little closet."

The man laughed, and chucked his wife under the chin.

"Where's the use o' asking me," he said, "when you knows as you
_can't_ say no to no waif nor stray as hever walked?"

He went away, for he was employed just then in blowing the organ,
and the organist was beckoning to him, so the woman turned to the
children.

"My name is Mrs. Moseley, darlings, and ef you're content with a
werry small closet for you and yer dog, why, yer welcome, and I'll
promise as it shall be clean. Why, ef that'll do for the night's
lodging, you three jest get back into the church pew, and hide Toby
well under the seat, and I'll have done my work in about an hour, and
then we'll go back home to dinner."