Taken altogether, it was a day of fruitful pleasure in spite of the storm outside.
That night the two men sat before the fire and watched the flames and listened to the wind roaring in the pines.

On his side of the dead line Bud rocked his hard-muscled, big body back and forth, cradling Lovin Child asleep in his arms.

In one tender palm he nested Lovin Child's little bare feet, like two fat, white mice that slept together after a day's scampering.
Bud was thinking, as he always thought nowadays, of Marie and his own boy; yearning, tender thoughts which his clumsy man's tongue would never attempt to speak.

Before, he had thought of Marie alone, without the baby; but he had learned much, these last four days.

He knew now how closely a baby can creep in and cling, how they can fill the days with joy.