’ Mrs Ibstock’s lips tightened and she looked away a moment. "Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. The Widow and her Child. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. That was one of the compensations for having consigned himself to this part of the world.
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