"What is it then, youngster? Come now, tell your own Davy what's
troubling you, there's a good boy."
"David, how long is it since mother was taken away from us? It seems so
long. I was thinkin' of mother, Davy, and wishing she was here with us
this night."
"You poor kid, poor little crippled kid," muttered David, patting the
small, thin hand. "It's natural, I suppose, for you to pine for your
mother, but ain't Davy been almost like a mother to you, Patsy? He's
tried hard, that he has, to be father and mother and big brother all in
one." And the man smiled somewhat wistfully.
"You've been all that and more too, Davy. 'Twasn't on my account I was
wishin' for mother, 'twas on yours. If she was here, she'd know how to
keep you from going with them men to-morrow night. She'd know how to
keep you to home, and I don't know what to say or to do to stop you from
going."
David's face darkened slightly and there was a note of sternness in his
voice as he said:
"So you was listening, was you, and heard what we was talkin' about?"
"I didn't listen a purpose, David; at least, not at first. I happened to
wake and heard 'em speak of the brown house on the hill. Then I wanted
to hear everything and I listened a purpose after that. Oh, Davy!
Davy!" the child cried imploringly, sitting up in the bed and clasping
his hands in petition; "don't do it, Davy; don't be a thief to please
those wicked men; don't go robbing the brown house on the hill.
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