ilness.

"I'll carry you and mother can carry the turtle," I answered, and to
prevent further delay I lifted him in my strong arms while Martha took
the turtle in her hands, protected by the gingham apron that she wore.
The black head wilted against my breast and the serious young violet
eyes were raised to mine in frightened confidence.

"It's a mighty big turkle," he faltered and snuggled closer.

"We'll get him," I reassured, as I laid him on a bed in a room that
opened, as did the bar, out on the tiny yard.

And as I had promised we performed upon that stubborn turtle. With a
convulsion, as the ammonia fumes entered his nostrils, if he had such
things, he let go of the toe, shuddered and withdrew into his shell, to
die, I supposed, though I afterwards learned that he crawled off in the
night, much to the kiddie's grief.

"That's a bad smell, poor old turkle," was all the thanks I got as the
sufferer climbed down from the bed and proceeded to seize his late enemy
in intrepid and sympathetic hands. His mother rescued both him and the
turtle by placing the latter in a bucket on a table at the window and
giving the rescued another bucket to get me a drink of water from the
well in the yard.

"Northeast, bottom corner," he promised me with hospitality shining from
his entire face as he experimentally hopped out into the yard, then
forgot me and the water entirely in making the acquaintance of a very
dirty little dog that was barking at him through the fence.

"Oh, he's lovely, Martha," I said, speaking from pure impulse in a way
that could not fail to carry conviction and melt the heart of any woman
who possessed a treasure like that.

"I know he is, Miss Charlotte," Martha answered with gentle bitterness,
"and that makes it all the worse for him."

"It doesn't; it can't be worse for anybody to be born as beautiful and
strong as that boy is," I answered her and felt somehow I had fallen
head foremost into my mission. "I came down here to see you, Martha, and
now that I have seen him--I--it's--it's a shame, all of it," I ended by
faltering with a total lack of the eloquence that I felt.

"Yes, it's just that--a shame," Martha admitted to me with a great
hopelessness in her black eyes. "And nothing can make it better."

"Something can be done!" I answered hotly. "You are young, Martha, and
he's a baby. You can get out of it all and you can get him out and begin
all over. I--I'll help you." And as I spoke I took