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ever do I," he declared, "spite of the reward, Samanthy. Don't she look like what our little 'un ought to look like if--she grew to look?" "You loon! How could you tell what she ought to have looked like when her own mother never saw her try? Oh, Josiah," and the lines of hardship melted into possibilities, "wouldn't it have been lovely--if she did--live--to look!" "'Tweren't your fault--nor mine, Samanthy. He knows, and mebby thet's why He sent this 'un. Ain't she purty? And I don't care a durn about the sanitarition folks. Of course--if we've found her--and they want her----" It was a strange sight. Those two wrinkled old faces peering into the blossom that lay on that feather bed! "Josiah Hobbs! You are an old loon! I can't see how you kin make out that this is heaven-sent," and she brushed a fly from the white forehead. "Oh--yes--you--kin, Samanthy. Else why did you shoo thet fly?" "Shet up! Do you want to rouse her?" and she went over, and pulled down the green curtain with the pink rose border. "Are you sartin thet--she's the one?" "Didn't I say I seen her? Are there so many cornsilk heads around here? Now, the question is----" "Jest what I was a-thinkin': The question is----" "We kin lock this room--and put the bars ag'in the shutters. But I don't want to scare her." "It's the best, though. We hev got to make it s'cure. I don't 'magine she'll care fer awhile, any way. And then we kin tote her back to the sanitation." "Well, we'll see. Now, you sneak off and I'll tuck her in. Poor lamb! To think that she's looney!" "Ain't it a shame! If our'n was alive we wouldn't care if she could think or not--we would think fer her--wouldn't we, Samanthy?" "Mebby," she answered, giving the quilt a smoothing. "But there's no tellin'. She might have run off----" The remainder of the soliloquy was lost in the red and white quilt. There Dorothy slept. The tin dipper of fresh water was on the wooden chair at her side. The green curtain was drawn down to the very sill of the window. The door was shut--and it was hooked on the outside. How long she slept she could not by any means know, but certainly the sun had sailed around to the window, that wore no curtain, and through which the glint of a fading day cut in like a faithful friend to poor Dorothy Dale. She groped her way over to the door. It was bolted, and the windows were securely fastened. The awful truth forced itself into her fagge
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