ue, but he looked again at his
child, and a lump rose in his throat.

"Oh, nuthin', missis," he replied, reddening. "Me an' the kid took a
fancy ter one another long ago."

He smiled blandly, in exquisite relief, as if he had confessed a sin or
had a tooth drawn. He took the child from Ada, and it lay in his arms,
nestling close with animal content.

Ada looked in silence, astonished and slightly scornful at this
development, jealous of the child's preference, already regretting her
neglect.

Mrs Yabsley stood petrified with the face of one who has seen a
miracle. For a moment she was too amazed to think; then, with a rapid
change of front, she conquered her surprise and claimed the credit for
this result.

"I knowed all along the kid 'ud fetch yer, Joe. I knowed yer'd got a
soft 'eart," she cried. "An' 'e's the very image of yer, wi' the
sweetest temper mortal child ever 'ad."

From that time Sunday became a marked day for Jonah, and he looked
forward to it with impatience. It was spring. The temperate rays of
the sun fell on budding tree and shrub; the mysterious renewal of life
that stirred inanimate nature seemed to touch his pulse to a quicker
and lighter beat. He sat for hours in the backyard, once a garden,
screened from observation, with the child on his knees. The blood ran
pleasantly in his veins; he felt in sympathy with the sunlight, the sky
flecked with clouds, and the warm breath of the winds. It broke on him
slowly that he was taking his place among his fellows, outcast and
outlaw no longer.

Soon, he and the child were inseparable. He learned to attend to its
little wants with deft fingers, listening with a smile to the kindly
banter of the women. His manner changed to Ada and her mother; he was
considerate, even kind. Then he began to drop in on Monday or Tuesday
instead of loafing with the Push at the corner. Ada was at the
factory; but Mrs Yabsley, sorting piles of dirty linen, with her arms
bared to the elbow, welcomed him with a smile. He remarked with
satisfaction that a change had come over the old woman. She never
spoke of marriage; seemed to have given up the idea.

But one day, as he sat with the child on his knees, she stopped in
front of the pair, with a bundle of shirts in her arms, and regarded
them with a puzzling smile. The baby lay on its back, staring into
space with solemn, unreflective eyes. From time to time Jonah turned
his head to blow the smoke of his ci