18 WILD BROTHER 
“Will you excuse me, Mr. Underwood?” the 
mother asked, as she took the little creature from 
its bed. “He’s real hungry and I haven’t fed him 
since noon,” she added. 
As he felt the warm hands of his benefactress 
about him, there came a comfortable soothing tone 
in the little creature’s complaining, and a few min- 
utes later his murmuring ceased altogether as, 
gently moving to and fro in her rocking-chair, the 
kindly mother, with her back toward me, fed her 
foster-child. 
The simplicity of it all — the crooning baby now 
in its cradle with one of the little girls rocking it, 
the other children playing about the primitive log- 
walled cabin, with its crude but ample home-made 
furniture — impressed me deeply. The room was 
redolent with the woodsy smell of timber ; the after- 
noon sun shone through the window and lighted 
up the rough but clean plank floor. It all seemed 
so homelike and natural. 
Many questions crowded all at once into my 
mind; but before I could ask them, there were 
voices outside, the latch was lifted, and the cook, 
the woman’s husband, came into the cabin. He 
was a tall stalwart man, with a frank and honest 
face. After his wife’s introduction, he greeted me 
pleasantly and explained that it would be impos- 
sible to put all of us up for the night. The men’s 
