art?" queried McWha, laconically.

Johnson made no reply till the flame caught the kindling and rushed
inwards from the open draught with a cordial roar. Then he stood up.

"Don' know about that," said he. "But he's been dead these hours and
hours! An' the fire out! An' the kid most froze! A sick man like he
was, to've kept the kid alone here with him that way!" And he glanced
down at the dead figure with severe reprobation.

"Never was much good, that Joe Godding!" muttered McWha, always
critical.

As the two woodsmen discussed the situation, the child, a
delicate-featured, blue-eyed girl, was gazing up from under her mop of
bright hair, first at one, then at the other. Walley Johnson was the
one who had come in answer to her long wailing, who had hugged her
close, and wrapped her up, and crooned over her in his pity, and
driven away the terrors. But she did not like to look at him, though
his gaunt, sallow face was strong and kind.

People are apt to talk easy generalities about the intuition of
children! As a matter of fact, the little ones are not above judging
quite as superficially and falsely as their elders. The child looked
at her protector's sightless eye, then turned away and sidled over to
McWha with one hand coaxingly outstretched. McWha's mouth twisted
sourly. Without appearing to see the tiny hand, he deftly evaded it.
Stooping over the dead man, he picked him up, straightened him out
decently on his bunk, and covered him away from sight with the
blankets.

"Ye needn't be so crusty to the kid, when she wants to make up to ye!"
protested Walley, as the little one turned back to him with a puzzled
look in her tearful blue eyes.

"It's all alike they be, six, or sixteen, or sixty-six!" remarked
McWha, sarcastically, stepping to the door. "I don't want none of 'em!
Ye kin look out for 'er! I'm for the horses."

"Don't talk out so loud," admonished the little one. "You'll wake
Daddy. Poor Daddy's sick!"

"Poor lamb!" murmured Johnson, folding her to his great breast with a
pang of pity. "No; we won't wake daddy. Now tell me, what's yer
name?"

"Daddy called me Rosy-Lilly!" answered the child, playing with a
button on Johnson's vest. "Is he gettin' warmer now? He was so cold,
and he wouldn't speak to Rosy-Lilly."

"Rosy-Lilly it be!" agreed Johnson. "Now we jest won't bother daddy,
him bein' so sick! You an' me'll git supper."

The cabin was warm now, and on tiptoe Johnson and Rosy-Lilly went
a