"The poor little things!" the young man said. "Ah, Father, it is wild
work--this making of a state. The soil of Kentucky should bear a rich
harvest. It is being deeply sown in pain and sorrow, and well-watered
with tears and blood."
They stood silent for a moment, looking helplessly at the bed and the
little white faces.
"What shall we do?" then asked Father Orin. "These children can't stay
here through another night. That wind blows right over the bed, and
there is no way to keep it out. They could hardly live till morning. And
yet they may die on the way if we try to take them to the Sisters at
once."
"That is their only chance. We are bound to take the risk. We must do
our best to get them to the Sisters as quickly as possible. Women know
better than doctors how to take care of babies. What is there to put
round them--to wrap them in?"
There were no wrappings, nothing that could be used for the purpose,
except the bed covers and Toby's blanket. The men took these and with
awkward tenderness covered the helpless, limp little bodies as well as
they could.
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