“Take ’im back!” echoed Mary.

Humpy crumpled up in his chair at this new evidence of The Hopper’s insanity.

“I’m goin’ to make a Chris’mas present o’ Shaver to his ma,” reaffirmed The Hopper, pinching the nearer ruddy cheek of the merry, contented guest.

Shaver kicked The Hopper in the stomach and emitted a chortle expressive of unshakable confidence in The Hopper’s ability to restore him to his lawful owners.  This confidence was not, however, manifested toward Mary, who had prepared with care the only cereal her pantry afforded, and now approached Shaver, bowl and spoon in hand.  Shaver, taken by surprise, inspected his supper with disdain and spurned it with a vigor that sent the spoon rattling across the floor.

“Me wants me’s paw-widge bowl!  Me wants me’s own paw-widge bowl!” he screamed.

Mary expostulated; Humpy offered advice as to the best manner of dealing with the refractory Shaver, who gave further expression to his resentment by throwing The Hopper’s watch with violence against the wall.  That the table-service of The Hopper’s establishment was not to Shaver’s liking was manifested in repeated rejections of the plain white bowl in which Mary offered the porridge.  He demanded his very own porridge bowl with the increasing vehemence of one who is willing to starve rather than accept so palpable a substitute.  He threw himself back on the table and lay there kicking and crying.  Other needs now occurred to Shaver:  he wanted his papa; he wanted his mamma; he wanted to go to his gwan’pa’s.  He clamored for Santa Claus and numerous Christmas trees which, it seemed, had been promised him at the houses of his kinsfolk.  It was amazing and bewildering that the heart of one so young could desire so many things that were not immediately attainable.  He had begun to suspect that he was among strangers who were not of his way of life, and this was fraught with the gravest danger.

“They’ll hear ‘im hollerin’ in China,” wailed the pessimistic Humpy, running about the room and examining the fastenings of doors and windows.  “Folks goin’ along the road’ll hear ‘im, an’ it’s terms fer the whole bunch!”

The Hopper began pacing the floor with Shaver, while Humpy and Mary denounced the child for unreasonableness and lack of discipline, not overlooking the stupidity and criminal carelessness of The Hopper in projecting so lawless a youngster into their domestic circle.

“Twenty years, that’s wot ut is!” mourned Humpy.

“Ye kin get the chair fer kidnapin’,” Mary added dolefully.  “Ye gotta get ‘im out o’ here, Bill.”

Pleasant predictions of a long prison term with capital punishment as the happy alternative failed to disturb The Hopper.  To their surprise and somewhat to their shame he won the Shaver to a tractable humor.  There was nothing in The Hopper’s known past to justify any expectation that he could quiet a crying baby, and yet Shaver with a child’s unerring instinct realized that The Hopper meant to be kind.  He patted The Hopper’s face with one fat little paw, chokingly declaring that he was hungry.