In Connection with the De Willoughby Claim. Frances Hodgson Burnett

      Then he turned his hat again, setting it more carefully on his knee. He also fixed his eyes on Tom with a harmless smile.

      “They wus North’ners.”

      Tom started, but managed to recover himself.

      “You might have mentioned that before,” he remarked, with sarcasm.

      “I did,” said Mr. Stamps, “along at the start, Tom; but ye wouldn’t none on ye believe me.”

      Tom remembered that this was true, it having been Mr. Stamps who suggested the Northern theory which had been so unitedly scouted by his hearers at the time of its propounding.

      “I h’ain’t stayed as stiddy in North Car’lina as the rest on ’em,” repeated Mr. Stamps. “When I was younger, I kinder launched out wunct. I thought I could make money faster ef I wus in a more money-makin’er place, ‘n’ I launched out. I went North a spell ‘n’ was thar a right smart while. I sorter stedded the folks’ ways ‘n’ I got to knowin’ ’em when I seed ’em ‘n’ heerd ’em talk. I know’d her for one the minit I set eyes on her ‘n’ heern her speak. I didn’t say nuthin’ much to the rest on ye, ’cause I know’s ye’d make light on it; but I know’d it wus jest that ar way with the Northerners.”

      “Well,” said Tom, “it’s valuable information, I suppose.”

      Mr. Stamps coughed. He turned his hat over and looked into its greasy and battered crown modestly.

      “It mout be,” he replied, “ ‘n’ then again it moughtent. It moughtent be if thar’ wus nuthin’ else to go ’long with it. They wus hidin’ sumthin’, ye know, ‘n’ they sot a heap on keepin’ it hid. Ef a body know’d the whole thing from the start, thet’d be int’rustin’, ‘n’ it ’ud be vallyable too.”

      “Valuable be d——” Tom began, but he checked himself once more on glancing at the cradle.

      But Mr. Stamps was so far interested that he did not read the warning he might have read in the suddenly repressed outbreak. As he neared his goal he became a little excited and incautious. He leaned forward, blinking rapidly.

      “They wasn’t no man ‘n’ wife,” he said. “Lord, no! ‘N’ ef the two as knowed most on ’em ‘n’ was kinder quickest at readin’ signs ’d kinder go partners ‘n’ heve confydence in one another, ‘n’ sorter lay to ‘n’ work it out ‘n’ foller it up, it ud be vallybler than stores, or post-offices, or farms to both on ’em.” And he leaned so far forward and blinked so fast that he lost his balance and almost fell off his chair.

      It was Tom who saved him from his fall, but not from that tender consideration for his physical security which such an act would argue. Tom gathered up his legs and strode across to him almost before he had finished speaking. For the time being he had apparently forgotten the cradle and its occupant. He seized the little man by the back of his collar and lifted him bodily out of his chair and shook him as a huge mastiff might have shaken a rat, agitating the little legs in the large trousers with a force which gave them, for a few seconds, the most active employment.

      “You confounded, sneaking, underhanded little thief!” he thundered. “You damned little scoundrel! You—you——”

      And he bore him out of doors, set him struggling astride his mule which was cropping the grass, and struck that sagacious animal a blow upon her quarters which sent her galloping along the Barnesville Road at a pace which caused her rider to cling to her neck and body with arms and legs, in which inconvenient posture he remained, unable to recover himself, for a distance of at least half a mile.

      Tom returned to the back room in some excitement. As he crossed the threshold, he was greeted by a shrill cry from the cradle. He ruefully regarded the patchwork quilt which seemed to be struggling violently with some unseen agency.

      “Doggone him!” he said, innocently, “he’s wakened her—wakened her, by thunder!”

      And he sat down, breathing heavily from his bodily exertion, and began to rock the cradle with a vigour and gravity which might have been expected to achieve great results, if Mornin had not appeared and taken his charge into her own hands.

CHAPTER VII

       Table of Contents

      The next day Tom went to Barnesville. He left the Cross-roads on horseback early in the morning, and reached his journey’s end at noon. He found on arriving at the town that the story of his undertaking had preceded him.

      When he drew rein before Judge Rutherford’s house and having dismounted and tied his horse to the fence, entered the gate, the Judge’s wife came out upon the porch to meet him with her baby in her arms.

      She greeted him with a smile.

      “Well,” she said, “I must say I am glad to see you. The Judge brought us a nice story from the country yesterday. What have you been doing at the Cross-roads? I told the Judge I didn’t believe a word of it. There, sit down in this chair and tell me right away.”

      “Well,” answered Tom in a business-like manner, “it’s true or I shouldn’t be here to-day. I’ve come to ask your advice about—well, about things in general.”

      Mrs. Rutherford uttered a little cry of delighted curiosity and surprise.

      “Gracious!” she exclaimed, “I never heard such a thing! Mother!” turning her head to call to someone in the room beyond, “it’s all true about the baby. Do come and hear Mr. De Willoughby tell about it.”

      She sat down on the steps of the porch laughing and yet regarding Tom with a half sympathetic, half curious look. It was not the first time she had found him unexpectedly mysterious.

      “Where’s the father?” she said. “Didn’t he care for the poor little thing at all? The Judge heard that he was so poor that he couldn’t take care of it. Hadn’t he any friends? It has a kind of heartless sound to me—his going away that way.”

      “He was poor,” said Tom, quietly. “And he had no relatives who could take the child. He didn’t know what to do with it. I—I think he had a chance of making a living out West and—the blow seemed to have stunned him.”

      “And you took the baby?” put in Mrs. Rutherford.

      “Yes,” Tom answered, “I took the baby.”

      “Is it a pretty baby?”

      “Yes,” said Tom, “I think it is.”

      Just then the Judge’s mother came out and he was called upon to tell the story again, when it was received with interest even more excited and wondering than before. The older Mrs. Rutherford exclaimed and looked dubious alternately.

      “Are you sure you know what to do with it?” she asked.

      “Well, no,” said Tom, “I’m not. I suppose I shall have to educate myself up to it gradually. There’ll be a good deal to learn, I suppose.”

      But he did not appear at all discouraged, and presently broached the object of his visit, displaying such modest readiness to accept advice and avail himself of all opportunities for acquiring valuable information, that his young hostess was aroused to the deepest admiration, and when he proceeded to produce quite a large memorandum book with a view to taking an immediate list of all required articles, and established rules, she could scarcely contain her delight.

      “I want to do it all up in the proper way,” he said.

      Thereupon he was borne into the house and a consultation of the most serious practical nature was held. Piles of the last baby’s pretty garments being produced to illustrate any obscure point. The sight of those garments with their embroidery and many frills fired