His wails died out against her breast.
"But you mustn't do that, honey.

He'd die in this cold night wind long before you got there." "Oh!" sighed Joan, and considered her mother with great eyes.

Black Bart turned and uneasily tugged at her dress.
"Will you take good care of him, munner?
Till I come back ?" "But I don't know how to take care of him, dear.

If you go he'll cry and cry and cry until he dies." Joan sighed.
"See how quiet he is when you hold him, Joan!" "Oh," muttered Joan again.

The distress of the problem made her wrinkle her forehead.