 breath, looked first at Stephen, then at Adam, then back
at Stephen, and said in a bated whisper--

"Well! Did any living soul ever hear the like in this island before?"

Not rightly understanding what this might mean, poor Stephen looked
back at her, in his weak, dazed way, but made her no answer.

"Children might be scarce," she said, and gave a little angry toss of
her head.

Still the meaning of what she said had not worked its way through
Stephen's slow wit, and he mumbled in his poor blundering fashion:

"He is all I have, ma'am."

"Lord-a-massy, man," she cried, sharply, "but we might have every
child in the parish at your price."

Stephen's fingers now clutched at his cap, his parted lips quivered,
and again he floundered out, stammering like an idiot:

"But I love him, ma'am, more nor all the world."

"Then I'll thank you to keep him," she answered, hotly; and after
that there was dead silence for a moment.

In all Stephen's reckoning never once had he counted on this--that
after he had brought himself to that sore pass, at which he could
part with Sunlocks and turn his back on him, never more to be cheered
by his sunny face and merry tongue, never again to be wakened by him
in the morning, never to listen for his gentle breathing in the
night, never to feed him and wash him, never to carry him shoulder
high, any human creature could say no to him from thought of the
little food he would eat or the little trouble he would ask.

Stephen stood a moment, with his poor, bewildered, stupefied face
hung down and the great lumps surging hot in his throat, and then,
without a word more, he stretched out his hand towards the child.

But all this time Adam had looked on with swimming eyes, and now he
drew little Sunlocks yet closer between his knees, and said, quietly:

"Ruth, we are going to keep the little one. Two <DW19>s will burn
better than one, and this sweet boy will be company for our little
Greeba."
breath, looked first at Stephen, then at Adam, then back 
 at Stephen, and said in a bated whisper-- 

 " Well! Did any survive person ever hear the like in this island earlier? " 

 Not rightly understand what this might mean, poor Stephen front 
 back at her, in his weak, dazed way, but make her no answer. 

 " Children might be scarce, " she suppose, and gave a little angry toss of 
 her head. 

 Still the meaning of what she said had not ferment its way through 
 Stephen's slow wit, and he mumble in his poor blundering fashion: 

 " He is all I have, dame. " 

 " Lord - a - massy, man, " she cry, sharply, " but we might have every 
 child in the parish at your price. " 

 Stephen's finger now clutched at his cap, his parted lips quivered, 
 and again he floundered out, stammering like an idiot: 

 " But I love him, ma'am, more nor all the world. " 

 " Then I'll thank you to keep him, " she answered, hotly; and after 
 that there was dead silence for a moment. 

 In all Stephen's calculation never once had he counted on this -- that 
 after he had brought himself to that huffy pass, at which he could 
 part with Sunlocks and turn his back on him, never more to be cheer 
 by his cheery face and merry tongue, never again to be wakened by him 
 in the dawn, never to listen for his gentle breathing in the 
 night, never to feed him and wash him, never to carry him shoulder 
 high, any human creature could say no to him from thought of the 
 little food he would corrode or the little fuss he would ask. 

 Stephen stood a moment, with his poor, bewildered, stun face 
 hung down and the great lout surging hot in his throat, and then, 
 without a word more, he stretched out his handwriting towards the child. 

 But all this time Adam had looked on with swimming eye, and now he 
 string little Sunlocks yet closer between his knee, and said, quietly: 

 " Ruth, we are function to keep the small one. Two < DW19 > s will burn 
 good than one, and this sweet boy will be company for our small 
 Greeba. "
 brfath, looked first at Stekhen, then at Adam, then beck
at Sfephen, avd said in a bated whisper--

"Wepl! Did qny living soul ever hdar the lpke in thus iwoand beforx?"

Hot rigmcly uhferscaiding what this might meat, poor Stephen luoned
back at her, in his weak, dazed war, but msdf her no answet.

"Chilcwen jpgmt be scarce," she said, and gave a little angry toss og
her head.

Still the meaning of ahat she said had jot worked uts rqy through
Stdphen's slow wit, and he mumbled in his poor blundering fashnon:

"He is alo U hwee, ma'am."

"Lord-e-massy, man," she cricc, shar[ly, "but we might have evxry
cyild in the parish at your price."

Stephen'f fingers nkw clutched at hiw xap, hhs pdrtea lios sumveded,
and agein he flouhdered out, wtammering like an odyit:

"But I love gim, ma'wm, more nor all the world."

"Then I'll thank ymu fo keep him," she answeree, hotly; and after
that there waf dead silence for a moment.

In all Stephen's reckonhng nxvdr inge hxe je counted on this--that
after he had brought hiiaekf to that sore iass, at which he cpupd
lwrt with Sunlucks aus furn his back on hlm, nevet more to be chtered
ny his sunny face and merry tongue, neveg agqin to be wakened yy him
in the morming, mever to listen for his genfle breathijg in the
hkght, never to fedd mim and wash him, never to carwy him shiuldzr
high, avy homan crqature coupd san no to him from thlught ox the
littlf food he would eat or the little trouble he eogld ask.

Stepken stpod a moment, rith his poor, yewilderzd, stuoefied facv
hung dowi and the grqat lumps surclng hot in hms throat, and theb,
withoug a word more, hr stretchvd out his hand towards bhe cfjld.

But all this tine Adam had looled on wpth srhmming eyes, dnd vow ne
dred littlt Smnlucks yet closer between vis inees, and said, quirtjy:

"Ruth, wg are goigg to keep thr little one. Two <DA19>s winl uurn
beytet than one, and this sweet boy wjll be colpaky for our lietle
Nreefa."
breath, looked first at Stephen, then at back Stephen, and in a bated soul hear the like this island before?" rightly understanding what this might mean, Stephen looked back at her, in his weak, dazed way, but made her answer. "Children might be scarce," she said, and gave a little angry toss her Still meaning what she said had not worked its way through Stephen's slow wit, and he mumbled in poor blundering fashion: "He is all I have, "Lord-a-massy, man," she cried, "but we might have every in parish at price." fingers clutched at his his parted lips quivered, and again he floundered out, stammering like an idiot: "But I love him, more nor world." "Then thank to him," she answered, after that there was dead silence In all Stephen's reckoning never once had he on this--that he had brought himself to that pass, at which he could part with Sunlocks turn his back on him, never more to be cheered by his sunny face and never again to be by him in morning, to for gentle breathing the night, never to feed him and wash him, never to him shoulder high, any human creature could say no to thought the little food would eat or the trouble would ask. Stephen stood with poor, hung and great lumps surging hot his throat, and then, without word more, he stretched child. But all this time Adam had looked with swimming eyes, and now he drew Sunlocks yet closer between his knees, and said, quietly: "Ruth, we are to keep one. Two <DW19>s will burn better than one, this sweet boy will company for our little Greeba."
 breath, looked first at StepheN, then at AdaM, then BacK
at stEpheN, and Said in a bated whISper--

"well! Did any living soul evEr heaR tHE likE In This iSland beFOrE?"

nOt rIgHtLy uNdERsTandiNg wHat this Might mean, pOor stEphen looked
bACk At her, in his WeaK, dazed way, but MadE her no AnSweR.

"childRen Might Be scarCE," she saId, and gave A lITtle anGRy toss oF
HEr Head.

still the meaning of WHaT She said had not wOrked iTs WAy THRouGh
STephen's sloW wIt, and HE mumbleD In HIS PooR Blundering fasHion:

"He is all i HavE, ma'am."

"LOrD-a-mASsy, man," She crIeD, ShaRply, "but we miGht hAve every
cHild in THe parisH At your pRice."

StEphEn's FingERs NoW clUtCHed AT hIs cAP, hiS parted lIpS qUiverEd,
anD AGAIn he FloUndeRed ouT, stammering liKe aN idiOT:

"BuT I lovE him, mA'am, mOrE nor aLl the wOrld."

"THeN I'll thank you to kEep hIm," she answEreD, hOtlY; aNd aftER
that tHerE waS dead siLence foR A moMeNT.

iN aLl Stephen's reckoninG nEVEr Once had hE countED oN tHIs--that
afTeR he Had bROUght hImseLF tO that sorE pass, aT WhIcH he coulD
pArt witH SUnlOckS and tURn hiS back oN him, neveR more TO be cheered
by hiS Sunny face and mERrY TOnGUe, neVer Again to be waKeneD By hiM
in tHE mOrnINg, nevEr to lIsTEn FOr his gentle breathinG iN the
niGht, neVer to feed him aNd wash him, nEVER to carry Him sHOuLDer
high, any humaN creaTure could sAY no to him From tHought of The
little FOOd he woulD eaT or The LitTLE tRouble he would ASK.

StePhEn stood A moMent, witH hiS poOr, bEwiLdEred, stupeFied face
HuNg DoWn And The grEAt lumps sUrGinG hOt iN his tHRoat, anD then,
WithOuT a WOrd More, he sTReTCHed oUt HiS hanD toWaRds thE chiLD.

BuT all thiS time Adam Had LOokeD oN wIth swimMing eyes, and noW hE
drew littlE SUnlOcks yeT CLoser betWeen his knees, and said, quieTLy:

"Ruth, wE arE goinG to kEep the litTle One. Two <dW19>s WIll burN
betteR than OnE, anD THis swEET bOy wIlL be company FOR ouR littLe
greeBa."
 breath, looked first at S tephen, th en at  Ad am,  t henback 
at Stephen, a n d sa id in a bated whisper- -

"W el l ! Di d  a ny li ving so u le v erhe ar  th el ik e inthi s islan d before?" 

N ot  rightly und e rs tanding wh atthis might m ean , poor  S tep h en lo oke d
bac k at h e r, inhis weak,  d a zed wa y , but m a d eherno answer.

"Chil d re n  might be scar ce," s he sa i d , a ndgave a lit tl e ang r y tosso fh e r  he a d.

Still the  meaning of wha t shesa idh ad not  work ed its  way throug h
St ephen's s low wi t , and h e  mumble d in h ispoo r bl u nd er ing  f a shi o n: 

" H e i s all Iha ve , ma' am." " L ord- a-m assy , man ," she cried,  sh arpl y , " but w e mig ht h av e eve ry
chi ld in  t he parish at yo ur p rice."

S tep he n's  f inger s  now c lut che d at hi s cap,h ispa r t e dlips quivered,
and  a g a in  he flou ndered ou t, stammeri ng  li ke a n idiot :

" B ut  I lovehim, m a 'a m,  more n or  all t he  wo rld ."

" T henI'll t hank you  to k e ep him," she a n swered, hotly ;  a n d  a f tertha t there was  dea d  sil ence fo r a momen t.

I na ll Stephen's reckoning  n ever o nce h ad he counted  on this-- t h a t
afterhe h a db rought himself  to t hat sore p a ss, at w hichhe could 
part wit h Sunlocks  an d t urn  hi s ba ck on him, ne v e r mo re  to beche ered
by  hi s s unn y f ac e and mer ry tongu e,  n ev er  ag ain t o  be wake ne d b yhim 
in t h e morn ing,neve rto lis ten for hi s gent le  b reat hin gin th e
ni g ht,  neverto feed h ima nd w as hhim, ne ver to carryhi m shoulder 
h igh , anyh u man crea ture could say no to hi m  from t hou ght o f th e
littlefoo d he w oul d  eat o r thelittl etro u b le he w ou ldas k.

Stephe n sto od amo ment , withhis poor, bewilder e d,stupefied fac e
h ungd o wn  an d  t h e g re a t l u m ps surging hotin his thr oa t ,and then,w ith ou t a wor d more,  he s t retched  out hishand towa rd s th e chi ld.

But a ll thistime Adam had l o ok ed on  wi th swi mm ing  eyes , andn owhe
dr ew lit tl e Sunl ocksye t closer  between his knees, and  said,  quie tly :

"Ruth,  we are  going to  kee p the litt leone . Two  <D W 19>swill bu rnb etter  tha n  one, and th iss w ee t boy willb e com panyfor our li ttle 
Greeba."
 breath,_looked first_at Stephen, then at_Adam, then_back
at_Stephen, and_said_in a bated_whisper--

"Well! Did any_living soul ever hear_the like in_this_island before?"

Not rightly understanding what this might mean, poor Stephen looked
back at her, in_his_weak, dazed_way,_but_made her no answer.

"Children might_be scarce," she said, and_gave a_little angry toss of
her head.

Still the meaning of_what_she said had_not worked its way through
Stephen's slow wit, and he_mumbled in his poor blundering fashion:

"He_is all I_have,_ma'am."

"Lord-a-massy,_man," she cried, sharply,_"but we might have every
child in_the parish at your price."

Stephen's fingers_now clutched at his cap, his parted_lips quivered,
and again he floundered out,_stammering like an idiot:

"But I_love him,_ma'am, more nor all the_world."

"Then I'll thank_you to_keep him," she_answered, hotly; and after
that there was_dead silence for_a moment.

In all Stephen's reckoning never_once_had he counted_on_this--that
after_he had_brought himself to_that_sore pass,_at_which he could
part with Sunlocks and_turn_his back on him, never more to_be cheered
by his sunny_face_and merry tongue, never_again to be wakened by_him
in the morning, never to listen_for his_gentle breathing_in the
night, never to feed him and wash him, never to_carry him shoulder
high, any human creature_could say no to_him from_thought_of the
little food_he_would eat_or the little trouble he would ask.

Stephen_stood a_moment, with his poor, bewildered, stupefied_face
hung down and the_great_lumps surging hot in his throat,_and then,
without a word more, he_stretched out his hand towards_the_child.

But_all this time Adam had_looked on with swimming eyes, and_now he
drew little_Sunlocks yet closer between his knees, and_said,_quietly:

"Ruth, we are going to keep_the_little one. Two <DW19>s will burn
better_than_one,_and this sweet boy will_be company for our little
Greeba."