"All right; that settles it. Lie quiet and I'll fetch you some
bedding from my room. Then I'll fix you a pallet out here, and
we'll put up as best we can till morning."

"Don't stay; don't stay," pleaded Will, as the other, leaving his
lantern on the floor, ran out into the moonlight.

Returning in a quarter of an hour, he threw a small feather-bed
down upon the straw and settled the boy comfortably upon it. Then
he covered him with blankets, and, after closing the door, came
back and stood watching for him to fall asleep. A slight draft
blew from the boarded window, and, taking off his coat, he hung
it carefully across the cracks, shading the lantern with his hand
that its light might not flash in the sleeper's face.

At his step Will gave a stifled moan and looked up in terror.

"I thought you'd left me. Don't go," he begged, stretching out
his hand until it grasped the other's. With the hot, nerveless
clutch upon him, Christopher was conscious of a quick repulsion,
and he remembered the sensation he had felt as a boy when he had
once suddenly brought his palm down on a little green snake that
was basking in the sunshine on an old log. Yet he did not shake
the hand off, and when presently the blanket slipped from Will's
shoulders he stooped and replaced it with a strange gentleness.
The disgust he felt was so evenly mingled with compassion that,
as he stood there, he could not divide the one emotion from the
other. He hated the boy's touch, and yet, almost in spite of
himself, he suffered it.