They were young shoulders, too, far too young to be burdened with the
cares and troubles of life.
The winter wind came tearing down the street, stinging his face and
piercing through his thin garments. Shivering, he turned up the collar
of his worn and ragged coat and thrust his hands deep into the pockets.
Then he hastened on with eyes on the ground and bent down head, for
Peter was thinking. A mighty problem confronted him, a problem which
must be solved at once.
He turned into the dirty, narrow alley in which he lived, opened the
door of a tenement house, and, running quickly up a flight of stairs,
entered Mrs. Dempsey's kitchen. The savory odor of frying ham greeted
his nostrils and reminded him that he had had nothing to eat since
morning. Well, never mind that, he would have supper soon now, he and
baby together.
"Bless me, Peter, is that you home so early?" cried cheery Mrs. Dempsey
turning around from the stove, frying-pan in one hand, a large fork in
the other. "You must have had good luck to-night to be back so early."
Peter caught up in his arms the pretty child who toddled across the
floor and threw herself upon him with a shriek of delight. With a
gravity befitting his great responsibility, he seated himself upon a
nearby chair, holding the baby close to him and smoothing back the
tangled yellow curls.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122