carelessly.

The girl flashed at him an indignant glance, then cast a quick,
frightened one behind her.

"No, no!" she exclaimed, earnestly. "I'm no thief. I'm running away
from old Mary Leary. She's most killed my little brother giving him
whiskey so's to make him look sick when she takes him out
begging. Look here!"

She lifted the shawl that was wrapped about the child. Tode leaned
over and looked at the little face. It was a pitiful little face--so
white and thin, with sunken eyes and blue lips--so pitiful that it
touched even Tode's heart, that was not easily touched.

"The ol' woman after ye?" he asked, springing down from the barrel.

"Yes, yes! Oh, do help me," pleaded the girl, the tears running down
her cheeks as she gazed at the baby face. "I'm afraid he's going to
die."

The boy cast a quick glance about him.

"Here!" he exclaimed, "squat down an' I'll turn this over ye."

He seized a big empty barrel that stood near. Without a word the girl
slipped to the ground and he turned the barrel over her, kicking under
the edge a bit of wood to give air. The next moment he stooped down to
the opening and whispered,