One window of the small house was dimly lighted, they found, when they
came in sight of it, and they thrilled with excitement and joyful alarm.
Suppose 'Lias's dreadful stepfather should come out and yell at them!
They came forward on tiptoe, making a great deal of noise by stepping on
twigs, rustling bushes, crackling gravel under their feet and doing all
the other things that make such a noise at night and never do in the
daytime. But nobody stirred inside the room with the lighted window.
They crept forward and peeped cautiously inside ... and stopped giggling.
The dim light coming from a little kerosene lamp with a smoky chimney
fell on a dismal, cluttered room, a bare, greasy wooden table, and two
broken-backed chairs, with little 'Lias in one of them. He had fallen
asleep with his head on his arms, his pinched, dirty, sad little figure
showing in the light from the lamp. His feet dangled high above the
floor in their broken, muddy shoes. One sleeve was torn to the shoulder.
A piece of dry bread had slipped from his bony little hand and a tin
dipper stood beside him on the bare table. Nobody else was in the room,
nor evidently in the darkened, empty, fireless house.
[Illustration: He had fallen asleep with his head on his arms.]
As long as she lives Betsy will never forget what she saw that night
through that window. Her eyes grew very hot and her hands very cold.
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