Job barked once in startled and indignant protest, and went to Ambrose's heels.
Ambrose could not forbear a start of laughter at the suddenness of the apparition.

It was like the genii in a pantomime bobbing up through the trapdoors.
"Come down," he said.
A distressful little procession faced him; they were gaunt, ragged, appallingly dirty, and terrified almost into a state of idiocy.

First came the mother, a travesty of womanhood, dehumanized except for her tragic, terrified eyes.
A boy of sixteen followed her, ugly and misshapen as a gargoyle; he carried the baby in a sling on his back.

Two timorous little girls came last.
They lugged their pitiful belongings with them--a few rags of bedding and clothes, some traps and snowshoes, and cooking utensils.

The smaller girl bore a holy picture in a gaudy frame.
Ambrose's heart was wrung by the sight of so much misery.