* * * * *

Wee Mildred Vandecar was ushered into the world during one of the worst March storms ever known in the western part of New York.  As she lay snuggled in laces in her father’s home, a tall man walked down a lane, four miles from Ithaca, with her sleeping sister in his arms.  The dark baby head was covered by a ragged shawl; two tender, naked feet protruded from under a coarse skirt.  Lon Cronk struggled on against the wind to a hut in the rocks, opened the door, and stepped inside.

A woman, not unlike him, in spite of added years, rose as he entered.

“So ye comed, Lon,” she said.

“Course!  Did Eli get here with the other brat?”

“Yep, there ’tis.  And he’s been squalling for the whole night and day.  He wanted the other little ’un, I’m a thinkin’.”

“Yep,” answered Lon somberly, “and he wants his mammy, too.  But, as I telled ye before, she’s dead.”

“Be ye reely goin’ to live to hum, Lon?” queried the old woman eagerly.

“Yep.  And ye’ll get all ye want to eat if ye’ll take care of the kids.  Be ye glad to have me stay to hum?”

“Yep, I’m glad,” replied the mother, with a pathetic droop to her shriveled lips.

Just then the child on the cot turned over and sat up.  The small, tear-stained face was creased with dirt and molasses.  Bits of bread stuck between fingers that gouged into a pair of gray eyes flecked with brown.  Noting strangers, he opened his lips and emitted a forlorn wail.  The other baby, in the man’s arms, lifted a bonny dark head with a jerk.

For several seconds the babies eyed each other.  Two pairs of brown-shot eyes, alike in color and size, brightened, and a wide smile spread the four rosy lips.

“Flea!  Flea!” murmured the baby on the bed; and “Flukey!” gurgled the infant in Lon’s arms.

“There!” cried the old woman.  “That’s what he’s been a cryin’ for.  Set him on the bed, Lon, for God’s sake, so he’ll keep his clack shet for a minute!”

The baby called “Flea” leaned over and rubbed the face of the baby called “Flukey,” who touched the dimpled little hand with his.  Then they both lay down on a rough, low cot in the squatter’s home and forgot their baby troubles in sleep.

* * * * *

The kidnapping of the twins was discovered just after Fledra Vandecar had presented her husband with another daughter, a tiny human flower which the strong man took in his hands with tender thanksgiving.  The three days that followed the disappearance of his children were eternal for Floyd Vandecar.  The entire police force of the country had been called upon to help bring to him his lost treasures.  So necessary was it for him to find them that he neither slept nor worked.  He had had to tell the mother falsehood after falsehood to keep her content.  The children had suddenly become infected with a contagious disease, and the doctor had said that the new baby must not be exposed in any circumstances.  After three long weeks of torture it devolved upon him to tell his wife that her children were gone.