Every now and again, when she was not looking, he gave long wondering glances at her, and his eyes were almost troubled.

"So I hear you and the kid have been living together again." "Huldah?
Oh, Tom, she's been such a comfort to me--" "That's all right.

I s'pose she isn't such a bad kid, on the whole." "She's more'n good to me." Then quickly, feverishly she began to pour out the story of her life since he "was took away." She told him of Charlie and the van, and how she was tricked.

Of her coming to Huldah, and their home together, and her own illness, until gradually her voice grew weary and fainter and fainter.

The flush died out of her cheeks, the light out of her eyes.