72 THE RED MOUNTAIN OF ALASKA. 
ravens. It comforted him a little, he hardly knew why, 
to think that they would be black, like himself — these 
chosen messengers from heaven. He was cut short in his 
reflections by mammy. 
" I'se gwine out again," she said, in a queer voice Lex 
had never heard. " I'se gwine out ter git somefin fer ye 
ter burn an' ter eat." 
" But dem — dem crows, mammy ? " 
" I'se gwine ter look fer 'em." And she was gone. 
Mebbe dey mout 'light down round de house," medi- 
tated Lex. I'll jes' keep de cat inside de do', any- 
ways." 
This time it was an hour before Chloe returned, weary, 
footsore, slow of speech, benumbed with cold. She had 
left the shawl, you see, over little Bess. 
In her pocket she brought a few chips, two bits of 
coal, and a fragment of bread-crust. With the remains 
of last night's supper, for which she had used the last 
crumb of provisions in the house, they made a meagre 
breakfast. The children were not allowed to get up, so 
they did not miss the table so much. 
Still the ravens did not come. Chloe dragged herself 
out once more, and returned — empty-handed ! 
It was Sunday, and the church-bells, in the wealthier 
part of the city, rang merrily. But congregations that 
morning were small. Those whose conscience permitted 
them to do so stayed at home. The lower streets were 
thronged with poor people, crying for bread and fuel. 
