Again she hesitates, looking upon the uncouth figure and the unwashed hand. Then she lifts her eyes to his face. Two eyes are looking into her own, eagerly, intently, full of pitying anxiety. She rises slowly, looks again into the eager eyes, and extends her hand. "Gracious!" he exclaims, as he releases it, "how nervous yer are: must be awful tired." "Tired, yes. I have walked all the way." "An' say, no jokin' now, _have_ ye come ter live with us?" [Illustration: "Partner, shake. Ye're clean grit!"--page 304.] "I have," she replies firmly; "unless," turning a contemptuous glance toward Mamma and Papa, "my _parents_ refuse me a shelter." It is probable that these overtures from Franz would have been promptly interrupted, had not Papa and Mamma, seeing the necessity of exchanging a few words, improved this opportunity to understand each other, and as they exchanged hasty whispers, any vagueness or hiatus in their speech was fully supplied by meaning glances. And now quite up in her role, Mamma again advances. "My child," she begins, in a dolorous voice, "when ye know us better, ye'll think better of yer poor old folks. As fer Franz here, he's been drinkin' a little to-night, but he's a good-hearted boy; don't mind him." "No," interrupts Franz, with a maudlin chuckle; "don't mind _me_." "It's a poor home yer come to, Leschen," continues Mamma, "and a poor bed I can give ye. But we want to be good to ye, dear, an' if ye're really goin' to stay with us, we'll try an' make ye as comfortable as we can." Leslie's head droops lower and lower; she pays no heed to the old woman's words. "Poor child, she is tired out." Saying this, Mamma takes the candle from the table, and goes from the room quickly, thus leaving the three in darkness. In another moment, the voice of Franz breaks out: "Ain't there another glim somewhere?" By the time Mamma returns, a feeble light is sputtering upon the table, and Franz is awkwardly trying to force upon Leslie some refreshments from the choice supply left from their late repast. But she refuses all, and wearily follows Mamma from the room. "Git yer rest now," says Franz as she goes; "to-morrow we'll talk over this young-un business." But when the morrow comes, and for many days after, Leslie Warburton is oblivious to all things earthly. CHAPTER XLIII. THE PRODIGAL BECOMES OBSTINATE. When the door had closed behind Leslie and the old woman, Franz Francoise dropped his chin upon his breast, and leaning his broad shoulders against the door-frame, stood thinking, or half asleep, it would have been difficult to guess which; while Papa began a slow, cat-like promenade up and down the room, paying no heed to Franz or his occupation, and thinking, beyond a doubt. After a little, Franz, arousing himself with a yawn, staggered to the nearest chair, and dropped once more into a listless attitude. In another moment, Mamma reëntered the room.