When she was out of sight, Eli rose and stole into the house and the parlor bedroom. He heard a low, peaceful
murmur, not a snore, but the song of youthful slumber, like the purr of a comfortable little animal. Eli looked
at the little creature in the bed, and started. Sleep and peace and rest had now changed the boy marvelously.
His cheeks looked round like a baby's. Long golden lashes lay upon them in violet hollows. His hair, moist
with heat, lay in little rings over his full temples, his mouth was slightly parted, his hands had the fingers
curled like vine tendrils. Poor little Wash Townsley was charming. He was a darling little cherub of a child
and years had rolled from him. He was no longer defiant and tiptoeing to heights of age. He lay cuddled in
sleep, a sight for a mother's rapture. He was sweet and innocent. It was inconceivable that the little pink
tongue had ever been impudent or been thrust out in derision.
Eli had thought the boy ten years old, now he thought certainly he was not over eight, small and babyish for
his age at that.
As Old Man Edgewater gazed at the young sleeper, a great love which he had never known swept over his
suddenly awakened heart. It seemed to him that he, for the first time, really knew that he had a heart. He saw
before him a gift of life of which he had not dreamed, except vaguely, back in his youth, and the dreams had
long ceased.
"That little feller ain't never goin' away, not if I know it," he muttered.
Deborah was not gone long. Presently he saw her come hurrying along laden with great parcels. She flushed
like a girl when he spoke. "What in creation you got there?" said he.
Deborah hesitated.
"Been buying something for him?" asked Eli.
Deborah came straight to him. "Then you know all about it?" she panted.
"Course, I know. How did you think he got in?"
Deborah flushed again, then paled. An awed expression was on her face. "I didn't know," she said. "I went in
there, and there he was. He looked like a little angel."
Eli eyed her. "He's little Wash Townsley," he said.
"That poor little boy!" said Deborah, in a beautiful voice. "I heard only the other day how he was treated.
Nothing except stepfolks, knocked about from pillar to post. How did he happen to come here?"
Old Man Edgewater looked at the bush, then at Deborah.
"You don't mean --" she began. Then she threw her head back. "What's that?" she demanded, with the rancor
of a mother defying justice itself for her child. "Children are all like that," said Deborah, in her beautiful
voice.
Old Man Edgewater nodded. "He ain't goin' to be turned adrift if I know it," said he.
"If you turn him out I shall go too," said Deborah.
"Lord A'mighty, who's goin' to turn him out?"
"I ain't, for one."