"Mine, I think, ma'am."

"God bless the boy!" said the woman impatiently, and stared at him
speechless.

Her daughter in the meantime had filled the phial with new milk. She
handed it to him. He grasped it eagerly. Tears of joy came in his big
hungry eyes.

"Oh, _thank_ you, ma'am!" he said. "But, please, would you tell me,"
he continued, looking from the one to the other, "how much water I
must put in the milk to make it good for baby? I know it wants water,
but I don't know how much!"

"Oh, about half and half," answered the elder woman. "'Ain't she got
no mother?" she resumed.

"I think she must have a mother, but I daresay she's a tramp,"
answered Clare.

"I don't want to give my good milk to a tramp!" she rejoined.

"_I_'m not a tramp, please, ma'am!--at least I wasn't till the day
before yesterday."

The woman looked at him out of motherly eyes, and her heart swelled
into her bosom.

"Wouldn't you like some milk yourself?" she said.