r, when it was promptly
closed.

"Thar he is," said the woman. "Go to 'im; he's purty bad."

The sudden transition from the bright sunlight to the gloom of the
cabin made it impossible for Glenning to see distinctly. He was vaguely
conscious of the presence of a number of persons, and he could barely
discern the outlines of a figure stretched on a bunk in a corner.

"All of you'll die if you don't have light and air," he announced,
almost harshly, and striding to the window, removed the flimsy curtain.
Then he turned abruptly to the woman who stood with mouth agape in the
middle of the room. "Open the door!" he commanded; "let some air in
here!"

She was a slatternly creature of uncertain age, her stooped shoulders
and lined face showing her kinship with want and all physical suffering.
She looked with curious intentness at the tall young man who seemed to
so fill the small room, and did his bidding.

"Ye don't b'long in Mac'n, do ye?" she asked. "'Pears to me I've never
saw ye before."

"I belong there now," replied John, shortly. "Came several days ago."

His quick eyes were taking in the meagre appointments of the room, and
its occupants, as he was walking towards the sick man in his corner. The
place seemed swarming with children of all ages and both sexes; they
were thick as rats in a corn-bin. He could not believe all of them the
offsprings of this destitute pair, and he voiced his idea as he knelt by
the pallet.

"What are all these children doing here? Send them home. Don't you know
they're in danger?"

"They _air_ home, thank ye!" rasped the woman, in quick defense of her
brood. "They're _our'n_, I'd hev ye know, ever' blessed one, 'n' they've
got more right here than you hev, ef you _air_ a doctor!"

"No offense!" mumbled Glenning, taking the hairy wrist which listlessly
lay on the ragged counterpane and feeling for the pulse with tips of
practiced fingers.

The children had huddled like sheep against the wall furthest away, a
tattered, unkempt crew of misbegotten humanity; terrible fruit of a
union of ignorance and brute passion. They said not a word, but clung to
each other as though menaced by some visible danger. The woman stood in
the center of the floor, also silent, her hands clasped under her dirty
apron, and her stringy neck outstretched as she watched the doctor. The
thing under Glenning's hand must have been made by God, but it hardly
looked it. It would not have looked it in health, a