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West Wind Drift by McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928
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A word from our supporters: File extension EXT | They went into the house. Later they stole tiptoe to the side of the crib where slept the sturdy, sun-kissed babe. The two middle fingers of a chubby hand were in his mouth. With one hand Percival shaded the pitch candle he had brought from the kitchen. She leaned over and gently touched the smooth, warm cheek. "I--I can't believe he is real, Perce," she whispered. "He isn't," whispered he. "He is something out of a fairy story. Nothing as wonderful as he is can possibly be real." THE END |