"Margaret, eh!" said Raegen, with grave consideration. "It's a very
pretty name," he added, politely, for he could not shake off the
feeling that he was in the presence of a superior being. "An' what did
you say your dad's name was?" asked Raegen, awkwardly. But this was
beyond the baby's patience or knowledge, and she waived the question
aside with both arms and began to beat a tattoo gently with her two
closed fists on Raegen's chin and throat. "You're mighty strong now,
ain't you?" mocked the young giant, laughing. "Perhaps you don't know,
Missie," he added, gravely, "that your dad and mar are doing time on
the Island, and you won't see 'em again for a month." No, the baby did
not know this nor care apparently; she seemed content with Rags and
with his company. Sometimes she drew away and looked at him long and
dubiously, and this cut Rags to the heart, and he felt guilty, and
unreasonably anxious until she smiled reassuringly again and ran back
into his arms, nestling her face against his and stroking his rough
chin wonderingly with her little fingers.
Rags forgot the lateness of the night and the darkness that fell upon
the room in the interest of this strange entertainment, which was so
much more absorbing, and so much more innocent than any other he had
ever known.
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