anxiety for his charge. It seemed to him he had never known misery
till now. Life or death for the baby--and he could do nothing! He was
cold enough himself, what with hunger, and the night, and the wet and
deadly cold little body in his arms; but whatever discomfort he felt,
it seemed not himself but the baby that was feeling it; he imputed it
all to the baby, and pitied the baby for the cold he felt himself.

"We needn't stay here, though," he said. "There must be better places
in the house! Let's try and find a bedroom!"

"Come along!" responded Tommy.

They left the kitchen, and went into the next room. It seemed warmer,
because it had a wooden floor. There was hardly any light in it, but
it felt empty. They went up the stair. When they turned on the landing
half-way, they saw the moon shining in. They went into the first room
they came to. Such a bedroom!--larger and grander than any at the
parsonage!

"Oh baby! baby!" cried Clare, "now you'll live--won't you?"

He seemed to have his own Maly an infant again in his arms. The
thought that the place was not his, and that he might get into trouble
by being there, never came to him. Use was not theft! The room and its
contents were to him as the water and the fire which even pagans
counted every man bound to hand to his neighbour. There was the bed!
Through all the cold time it had been waiting for them! The
counterpane was very dusty; and oh, such moth-eaten blankets! But
there were sheets under them, and they were quite clean, though dingy
with age! The moths--that is, their legs and wings and dried-up