 her chair aside that she might
knit. Stephen Orry entered slowly with little Sunlocks by the hand.

"This is the person, your Excellency," said the footman.

"Come in, Stephen Orry," said the Governor.

Stephen Orry's face softened at that word of welcome. The footman's
dropped and he disappeared.

Then Stephen told his errand. "I shall come to have give you
something," he said, trying to speak in English.

Adam's wife raised her eyes and glanced over him. Adam himself laid
down his pipe and held out his hand towards Sunlocks. But Stephen
held the child back a moment and spoke again.

"It's all I shall have got to give," he said.

"What is it?" said Adam.

"The child," said Stephen, and passed little Sunlocks to Adam's
outstretched hand.

At that Adam's wife dropped her knitting to her lap, but Stephen,
seeing nothing of the amazement written in her face, went on in his
broken words to tell them all--of his wife's life, her death, his own
sore temptation, and the voice out of heaven that had called to him.
And then with a moistened eye and a glance at Sunlocks, and in a
lowered tone as if fearing the child might hear, he spoke of what
he meant to do now--of how he would go back to the herrings, and
maybe to sea, or perhaps down into the mines, but never again to
Port-y-Vullin. And, because a lone man was no company for a child,
and could not take a little one with him if he would, he had come to
it at last that he must needs part with little Sunlocks, lending him,
or maybe giving him, to someone he could trust.

"And so," he said, huskily, "I shall say to me often and often, 'The
Governor is a good man and kind to me long, long ago, and I shall
give little Sunlocks to him.'"

He had dropped his head into his breast as he spoke, and being now
finished he stood fumbling his scraggy goatskin cap.

Then Adam's wife, who had listened in mute surprise, drew herself up,
took a long
her chair aside that she might 
 knit. Stephen Orry entered lento with short Sunlocks by the hand. 

 " This is the person, your Excellency, " said the footman. 

 " hail in, Stephen Orry, " allege the Governor. 

 Stephen Orry's face softened at that son of welcome. The footman's 
 flatten and he disappeared. 

 Then Stephen state his errand. " I shall come to have give you 
 something, " he suppose, trying to speak in English. 

 Adam's wife raised her eyes and glanced over him. Adam himself laid 
 down his organ pipe and held out his hand towards Sunlocks. But Stephen 
 held the child back a consequence and spoke again. 

 " It's all I shall have got to afford, " he said. 

 " What is it? " state Adam. 

 " The child, " said Stephen, and passed little Sunlocks to Adam's 
 outstretched hand. 

 At that Adam's wife dropped her knit to her lap, but Stephen, 
 seeing nothing of the amazement written in her face, went on in his 
 broken word to tell them all -- of his wife's life, her death, his own 
 sore temptation, and the voice out of heaven that had called to him. 
 And then with a moistened eye and a glance at Sunlocks, and in a 
 lowered timbre as if fearing the child might hear, he speak of what 
 he mean to do now -- of how he would go back to the herrings, and 
 maybe to sea, or perhaps down into the mine, but never again to 
 Port - y - Vullin. And, because a lone man was no company for a child, 
 and could not take a little one with him if he would, he had come to 
 it at final that he must needs part with little Sunlocks, lending him, 
 or possibly giving him, to someone he could believe. 

 " And so, " he said, huskily, " I shall say to me often and frequently,' The 
 Governor is a good man and kind to me long, long ago, and I shall 
 give short Sunlocks to him.' " 

 He had dropped his head into his breast as he spoke, and being now 
 finish he stood fumble his scraggy goatskin detonator. 

 Then Adam's wife, who had listened in dumb surprise, drew herself up, 
 took a long
 heg chair aside that she mlght
knit. Stephen Orry eitered alowly wkth little Sunlocks by the hend.

"Tyis iw the person, your Exceulency," sapd the foitmai.

"Come in, Stephen Orry," salb the Noveruoc.

Stephen Orry's nace softenad at that worg uf welcome. The footman's
dropped and he disappraged.

Then Stepheg tokq hia errand. "I shall come to have give you
somtthing," he said, tryong to speak in English.

Adal's wlfe raised her eyed and glancgs odwr him. Adam fimself lapb
down his pjpe and held out his hand towaras Suulocks. But Wtwphft
held the ciild bwck a moment and spone agaim.

"It's all I shakl iave got to give," he said.

"Wiat is it?" said Adam.

"Tre child," vand Stephen, and passed luttle Sunnockr to Adzm'x
ohtstrehchxd hand.

At tgat Adam's wufe dropped her kniutigt to her lap, gut Stqpren,
seeing nothing of the amazement writuen ih her face, went on in hus
broken words to telp them alj--of his wife's life, her death, his own
sore temptatimn, anv ghe vjkxe out of heaven that had called to him.
And then siuh s moistened eyc and a glance at Xujlpsks, and in a
luwered tohe as if fearing tje chilq migyt hear, ht spole of what
he meant to do noq--of how he wjyld go back to the herrings, aud
maybg to sra, or perhaps down into the mines, but jever agajv to
Port-y-Vullin. Xnd, bacause a lone man was no cjmpany foc a ckild,
and zoulc not eake a lithle oka with him if he wluld, ke hag come to
ih at last that he must needs pacv with little Sgnlmcks, lenbing hlm,
or maybe givigg him, to somepne he eould grust.

"And sk," he samd, huskily, "I shall say to le often and often, 'Tre
Gocernir is a eood man and kond to me long, long ago, and I shall
giye lijtme Sunlocks to knm.'"

Ye had dropped nis hewd iito hyv breast as ve sookd, and ceing now
fikisfed ne stood fumbling hiv scdaggy goatskin cap.

Yhcn Adam's qife, who had listened in mute surprise, frew ierselh up,
topk w long
her chair aside that she might knit. entered with little by the hand. Excellency," the footman. "Come Stephen Orry," said Governor. Stephen Orry's face softened at word of welcome. The footman's dropped and he disappeared. Then Stephen told his "I shall come to have give you something," he said, trying to speak English. wife her and glanced over him. Adam himself laid down his pipe and held out his hand towards But Stephen held the child back a moment spoke again. "It's all shall have got to give," said. is it?" Adam. child," Stephen, and passed Sunlocks to Adam's outstretched hand. At that Adam's wife dropped her knitting to her lap, but Stephen, nothing of written in face, on his broken words them all--of his wife's life, her sore temptation, and the voice out of heaven had called him. And then with a moistened and a glance at Sunlocks, and in a tone as if fearing the child might hear, he spoke of what he meant to how he would go to the herrings, maybe sea, perhaps into the but never again to Port-y-Vullin. And, because a lone man was company for a child, and could not take a little him he would, he come to it at that must needs part with lending or to he trust. "And so," he huskily, "I shall say to often and often, 'The and kind to me long, long ago, and shall give little Sunlocks to him.'" He dropped his head into his breast as he spoke, and being now he stood scraggy goatskin cap. Then Adam's wife, who had in mute surprise, drew up, took a long
 her chair aside that she might
Knit. StepheN Orry EntEreD sLowlY witH little SunlockS By thE hand.

"This is the person, yoUr ExcElLEncy," SAiD the fOotman.

"COMe IN, stePhEn orrY," sAId The GoVerNor.

StepHen Orry's faCe sOfTened at that wORd Of welcome. THe fOotman's
droppEd aNd he diSaPpeARed.

ThEn STepheN told hIS erranD. "I shall coMe TO have gIVe you
soMEThIng," hE said, trying to speaK In eNglish.

Adam's wifE raiseD hER eYES anD glAnced over hIm. adam hIMself laID
dOWN His PIpe and held out His hand towaRDs SUnlockS. BUt STEphen
hEld thE cHIld Back a moment And sPoke again.

"it's all i Shall haVE got to gIve," he sAid.

"whaT is iT?" SaId adaM.

"THE chILd," SaiD stePhen, and pAsSeD littLe SuNLOCKs to adaM's
ouTstreTched hand.

At thAt ADam's WIfe DroppEd her KnitTiNg to hEr lap, bUt StePhEn,
seeing nothing Of thE amazemenT wrItTen In Her faCE, went oN in His
Broken wOrds to tELl tHeM ALL--oF his wife's life, her deAtH, HIs Own
sore tEmptatIOn, AnD The voice OuT of HeavEN That hAd caLLeD to him.
AnD then wITh A mOisteneD eYe and a GlAncE at sunloCKs, anD in a
loWered tonE as if FEaring the child MIght hear, he spoKE oF WHaT
He meAnt To do now--of hoW he wOUld gO bacK To The HErrinGs, and
MaYBe TO sea, or perhaps down inTo The minEs, but Never again to
POrt-y-Vullin. aND, Because a Lone MAn WAs no company for A chilD,
and could nOT take a liTtle oNe with hiM if he woulD, HE had come To
iT at LasT thAT He Must needs part WITh liTtLe SunloCks, Lending Him,
Or mAybE giViNg him, to soMeone he cOuLd TrUsT.

"AnD so," he SAid, huskiLy, "i shAlL saY to me OFten anD ofteN, 'The
goVeRNor Is a good MAn AND kinD tO mE lonG, loNg Ago, anD I shALl
gIve littLe SunlockS to HIm.'"

He HaD dRopped hIs head into his BrEast as he spOkE, anD being NOW
finisheD he stood fumbling his scraGGy goatsKin Cap.

ThEn AdAm's wife, whO haD listeNed IN mute sUrprisE, drew HeRseLF Up,
tooK A LoNg
 her chair aside that shemight
knit . Ste phe n O rr y en tere d slowly withl ittl e Sunlocks by the hand .

"T hi s  ist he  pers on, you r  E x c ell en cy ,"sa i dthe f oot man.

" Come in, S tep he n Orry," sai d  t he Governo r.
Stephen Orr y's  faceso fte n ed at  th at wo rd ofw elcome . The foo tm a n's
dr o pped an d he  dis appeared.

Then S t ep h en told his er rand."I sh a l l c ome  to have g iv e you somethi n g, " h e s a id, trying to  speak in E n gli sh.

A da m's wife r aised  h e r e yes and gla nced  over him . Adam himself laid
do wn his  pi peandh el dout  h i s h a nd  to w ard s Sunloc ks .But S teph e n h eldthe  chi ld ba ck a moment a ndspok e  ag ain.
"It' s al lI sha ll hav e got  t o give," he sai d.
"What isit? "sai dAdam. 
"Thechi ld, " saidStephen ,  an dp a s se d little Sunlocksto A da m's
outs tretch e dha n d.

At t ha t A dam' s wifedrop p ed  her kni ttingt ohe r lap,bu t Step he n,see ing n o thin g of t he amaze mentw ritten in herf ace, went oni nh i sb roke n w ords to tel l th e m al l--o f  h isw ife's  life ,h er death, his own
sore  t emptat ion,and the voice  out of he a v e n that h ad c a ll e d to him.
Andthenwith a moi s tened ey e and  a glanc e at Sunl o c ks, andina
l owe red t on e as if feari n g  the  c hild mi ght  hear,hespo keofwh at
he mea nt to do  n ow -- of  ho w hew ould goba ckto  th e her r ings,and
m aybe  t os ea,  or per h ap s down  i nt o th e m in es, b ut n e ver  againto
Port-y -Vu l lin.  A nd , becau se a lone man  w as no comp an y f or a c h i ld,
andcould not take a little one wit h h im if  hewould, he  ha d come  to it atlast t hat h emus t needs p ar t w it h little S u n loc ks, l en ding  him,
o r maybe giving him ,  to  someone he c oul d tr u s t. 

" A nd so, "h e s a i d, huskily, "Ishall sayto me  often and oft en , 'TheGoverno r isa  good m an and ki nd to melo ng,l o ngago, and I  shall
g ive littl e  Sunl o ck s tohim .'"

H ehad  drop ped hi s  he ad in to his  b reastas he  s poke, an d being now
finished he  stood  fumb lin g his scr agg y  go atskin ca p.
Then Adam' s w ife , who  ha d  list ened in  mu t e sur pris e , drew he r se lfu p ,took a long 
 her_chair aside_that she might
knit. Stephen_Orry entered_slowly_with little_Sunlocks_by the hand.

"This_is the person,_your Excellency," said the_footman.

"Come in, Stephen_Orry,"_said the Governor.

Stephen Orry's face softened at that word of welcome. The footman's
dropped and_he_disappeared.

Then Stephen_told_his_errand. "I shall come to_have give you
something," he said,_trying to_speak in English.

Adam's wife raised her eyes and_glanced_over him. Adam_himself laid
down his pipe and held out his hand_towards Sunlocks. But Stephen
held the child_back a moment_and_spoke_again.

"It's all I shall_have got to give," he said.

"What_is it?" said Adam.

"The child," said_Stephen, and passed little Sunlocks to Adam's
outstretched_hand.

At that Adam's wife dropped her_knitting to her lap, but_Stephen,
seeing nothing_of the amazement written in_her face, went_on in_his
broken words to_tell them all--of his wife's life,_her death, his_own
sore temptation, and the voice out_of_heaven that had_called_to_him.
And then_with a moistened_eye_and a_glance_at Sunlocks, and in a
lowered tone_as_if fearing the child might hear, he_spoke of what
he meant_to_do now--of how he_would go back to the_herrings, and
maybe to sea, or perhaps_down into_the mines,_but never again to
Port-y-Vullin. And, because a lone man was no_company for a child,
and could not_take a little one_with him_if_he would, he_had_come to
it_at last that he must needs part_with little_Sunlocks, lending him,
or maybe giving him,_to someone he could_trust.

"And_so," he said, huskily, "I shall_say to me often and often,_'The
Governor is a good man_and_kind_to me long, long ago,_and I shall
give little Sunlocks to_him.'"

He had dropped_his head into his breast as he_spoke,_and being now
finished he stood fumbling_his_scraggy goatskin cap.

Then Adam's wife, who_had_listened_in mute surprise, drew herself_up,
took a long