Father Orin then went out of the cabin, and with a nod
summoned Toby to do his part. When the priest was seated in the saddle,
the doctor turned back to the bed, and lifting one of the three limp
little burdens, carried it out and carefully placed it in Father Orin's
arms.
"But you can't carry both of the others," said the priest, in sudden
perplexity. "And we can't leave one here alone while we take the others
and return. Maybe it would be better to take one at a time. I can either
stay or go."
"Oh, no, indeed! I can take these two easy enough--one on each arm. They
weigh nothing--poor little atoms--and I don't need a hand for the reins.
My horse often goes in a run with them thrown over the pommel. He went
on a bee-line with them so last night."
With both arms thus filled with the helpless morsels of humanity, he had
no trouble in seating himself in the saddle. He laughed a little,
thinking what a spectacle they must make; and Father Orin laughed too,
with the shamefacedness that the best men feel when they do such
gentle things. And then the strange, pathetic journey through the
wilderness began.
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