We will go to the parsonage now, and then Molly and I will tell dad about the beer." He lifted the child gently in his arms, and stooped again for the pitcher.

"Come, Helen," he said, and they went towards the parsonage.

Helen entered reluctantly, but without a protest, and then stood watching them down the street.

The little yellow head had fallen on John's shoulder, and Molly was almost asleep.
Tom Davis's house was one of a row near the river.

They had been built on piles, so as to be out of the way of the spring "rise," but the jar and shock of the great cakes of ice floating under them when the river opened up had given them an unsteady look, and they leaned and stumbled so that the stained plastering had broken on the walls, and there were large cracks by the window frames.