 CHAPTER IX. A happy tea. Exactly five minutes before six the party arrived in great state, for Bab and Betty were their best frocks and hair-ribbons, Ben had a new blue shirt and his shoes on as full dress, and Sancho's curls were nicely brushed, his frills as white as if just done up. No one was visible to receive them, but the low table stood in the middle of the walk with four chairs and a footstool round it. A pretty set of green and white china caused the girls to cast admiring looks upon the little cups and plates, while Ben eyed the feast longingly, and Sancho, with difficulty, restrained himself from repeating his former naughtiness. No wonder the dog, sniffed, and the children smiled, for there was a noble display of little tarts and cakes, little biscuits and sandwiches, a pretty milk-pitcher shaped like a white cala rising out of its green leaves, and a jolly little tea-kettle singing away over the spirit-lamp as cosily as you please. "'Isn't it perfectly lovely?' whispered Betty, who had never seen anything like it before. "'I just wish Sally could see us now,' answered Bab, who had not yet forgiven her enemy. "'Wonder where the boy is?' added Ben, feeling as good as any one, but rather doubtful how others might regard him. Here rumbling sound caused the guests to look toward the garden, and in a moment Miss Celia appeared pushing a wheeled chair in which sat her brother. A gay afghan covered the long legs, a broad brimmed hat hid half the big eyes, and a discontented expression made the thin face as unattractive as the fretful voice, which said complainingly, "'If they make a noise, I'll go in. Don't see what you asked them for.' "'To amuse you, dear. I know they will, if you will only try to like them,' whispered the sister, smiling, and nodding over the chair-back as she came on, adding aloud, "'Such a punctual party. I am all ready, however, and we will sit down at once. This is my brother Thornton, and we are all going to be very good friends by and by. Here's the droll dog, Thorny. Isn't he nice and curly?' Now Ben had heard what the other boy said, and made up his mind that he shouldn't like him, and Thorny had decided beforehand that he wouldn't play with a tramp, even if he cut capers. So both looked decidedly cool and indifferent when Miss Celia introduced them. But Sancho had better manners and no foolish pride. He, therefore, set them a good example by approaching the chair with his tail waving like a flag of truce, and politely presented his ruffled paw for a hearty shake. Thorny could not resist that appeal, and patted the white head with a friendly look into the affectionate eyes of the dog, saying to his sister as he did so, "'What a wise old fellow he is! It seems as if he could almost speak, doesn't it?' "'He can.' "'Say, how do you do, Sanch?' commanded Ben, relenting at once, for he saw admiration in Thorny's face. "'Whoa, whoa, whoa!' remarked Sancho in a mild and conversational tone, sitting up and touching one paw to his head as if he saluted by taking off his hat. Thorny laughed in spite of himself, and Miss Celia, seeing that the ice was broken, wheeled him to his place at the foot of the table. Then, seating the little girls on one side, Ben and the dog on the other, took the head herself and told her guests to begin. Bab and Betty were soon chattering away to their pleasant hostess as freely as if they had known her for months. But the boys were still rather shy, and made Sancho the medium through which they addressed one another. The excellent beast behaved with wonderful propriety, sitting upon his cushion in an attitude of such dignity that it seemed almost to liberty to offer him food. A dish of thick sandwiches had been provided for his especial refreshment, and as Ben from time to time laid one on his plate, he affected entire unconsciousness of it till the word was given, when it vanished at one gulp, and Sancho again appeared absorbed in deep thought. But having once tasted of this pleasing delicacy, it was very hard to repress his longing for more. And in spite of all his efforts, his nose would work, his eye kept a keen watch upon that particular dish, and his tail quivered with excitement as it lay like a train over the red cushion. At last a moment came when temptation proved too strong for him. Ben was listening to something Miss Celia said, a tarch lay unguarded upon his plate. Sanch looked at Thornie, who was watching him. Thornie nodded. Sanch gave one wink, bolted the tarte, and then gazed pensively up at a sparrow swinging on a twig overhead. The slinus of the rascal tickled the boy so much that he pushed back his hat, clapped his hands, and burst out laughing as he had not done before for weeks. Everyone looked round surprised, and Sancho regarded them with a mildly inquiring air as if he said, Why this unseemly mirth, my friends? Thornie forgot both sulks and shyness after that, and suddenly began to talk. Ben was flattered by his interest in the dear dog, and opened out so delightfully that he soon charmed the other by his lively tales of circus-life. Then Miss Celia felt relieved, and everything went splendidly, especially the food, for the plates were emptied several times, the little teapot ran dry twice, and the hostess was just wondering if she ought to stop perveracious guests, when something occurred which spared her that painful task. A small boy was suddenly discovered standing in the path behind them, regarding the company with an air of solemn interest. A pretty, well-dressed child of six, with dark hair cut short across the brow, a rosy face, a stout pair of legs, left bare by the socks which had slipped down over the dusty little shoes. One end of a wide sash trailed behind him, a straw hat hung at his back, his right hand firmly grasped a small turtle, and his left a choice collection of sticks. Before Miss Celia could speak, the stranger calmly announced his mission. "'I have come to see the peacocks.' "'You shall presently,' began Miss Celia, but got no further for the child added coming a step near. "'And the wabbit.' "'Yes, but first won't you?' "'And the curly dog,' continued the small voice, as another step brought the resolute young personage nearer. There he is. A pause, a long look, then a new demand with the same solemn tone, the same advance. I wish to hear the donkey bray. Certainly, if you will. And the peacock scream. "'Anything more, sir?' Having reached the table by this time, the insatiable infant surveyed its ravaged surface, then pointed a fat little finger at the last cake, left for manners, and said commandingly, "'I will have some of that.' "'Help yourself, and sit upon the step to eat it while you tell me whose boy you are,' said Miss Celia, much amused at his proceedings. Deliberately putting down his sticks, the child took the cake, and composing himself upon the step, answered with his rosy mouthful, "'I am Papa's boy. He makes a paper. I help him a great deal.' "'What is his name?' "'Mr. Barlow, we live in Springfield,' volunteered the new guest, unbending a trifle thanks to the charms of the cake. "'Have you a mama, dear?' "'She takes naps. I go to walk, then.' "'Without leave, I suspect. Have you no brothers or sisters to go with you?' said Miss Celia, wondering where the little runaway belonged. "'I have two brothers—Thomas Merton Barlow and Harry Sanford Barlow. I am Alfred Tennyson Barlow. We don't have any girls in our house—only Bridget. "'Don't you go to school?' "'The boys do. I don't learn any Greeks and Latins yet. I dig and read to mama and make poetry for her.' "'Couldn't you make some for me? I'm very fond of poetry,' proposed Miss Celia, seeing that this prattle amused the children. "'I guess I couldn't make any now. I made some coming along. I will say it to you.' And, crossing his short legs, the inspired babe half-said, half-sung the following poem. "'Sweet are the flowers of life, swept o'er my happy days at home. Sweet are the flowers of life when I was a little child. Sweet are the flowers of life that I spent with my father at home. Sweet are the flowers of life when children played about the house. Sweet are the flowers of life when the lamps are lighted at night. Sweet are the flowers of life when the flowers of summer bloomed. Sweet are the flowers of life, dead with the snows of winter. Sweet are the flowers of life when the days of spring come on.'" Note. These lines were actually composed by a six-year-old child. "'That's all of that one. I made another one when I digged after the turtle. I will say that it is a very pretty one,' observed the poet with charming candor, and taking a long breath he tuned his little lyre afresh. "'Sweet, sweet days are passing, o'er my happy home. Passing on swift wings through the valley of life. Cold are the days when winter comes again. When my sweet days were passing at my happy home. Sweet were the days on the rivulet-screen bank. Sweet were the days when I read my father's books. Sweet were the winter days when bright fires are blazing." "'Bless the baby! Where did he get all that?' exclaimed Miss Celia, amazed, while the children giggled as Tennyson Jr. took a bite at the turtle instead of the half-eaten cake, and then, to prevent further mistakes, crammed the unhappy creature into a diminutive pocket in the most businesslike way imaginable. "'It comes out of my head. I make lots of them,' began the imperturbable one, yielding more and more to the social influences of the hour. "'Here the peacock's coming to be fed,' interrupted Bab as the handsome birds appeared with their splendid plumage glittering in the sun. Young Barlow rose to admire, but his thirst for knowledge was not yet quenched, and he was about to request a song from Juno and Jupiter, when old Jack, pining for society, put his head over the garden wall with a tremendous bray. This unexpected sound startled the inquiring stranger half out of his wits, for a moment the stout leg staggered, and the solemn countenance lost its composure, as he whispered with an astonished air, "'Is that the way the peacock's scream?' The children were in fits of laughter, and Miss Celia could hardly make herself heard as she answered merrily, "'No, dear, that is the donkey asking you to come and see him. Will you go?' "'I guess I couldn't stop now. Mama might want me.' And without another word the discomfited poet precipitately retired, leaving his cherished sticks behind him. Ben ran after the child as if he came to no harm, and presently returned to report that Alfred had been met by a servant, and gone away chanting a new verse of his poem, in which peacock's, donkey's, and the flowers of life were sweetly mingled. "'Now I'll show you my toys, and we'll have a little play before it gets too late for Thornie to stay with us,' said Miss Celia, as Randa carried away the tea-things and brought back a large tray full of picture-books, dissected maps, puzzles, games, and several pretty models of animals, the whole crown with a large doll dressed as a baby. At sight of that, Betty stretched out her arms to receive it with a cry of delight. Bab seized the games, and Ben was lost in admiration of the little Arab chief prancing on the white horse, all saddled and bridled as if fit for the fight. Thornie poked about to find a certain curious puzzle which he could put together without a mistake after long study. Even Sancho found something to interest him, and standing on his hind legs thrust his head between the boys to pot several red and blue letters on square blocks. "'He looks as if he knew them,' said Thornie, amused at the dog's eager wine and scratch. "'He does! Spell your name, Sanch!' and Ben put all the gay letters down upon the flags with a cheer up, which set the dog's tail to wagging as he waited till the alphabet was spread before him. Then with great deliberation he pushed the letters about till he had picked out six. These he arranged with noes and paw till the word Sancho lay before him correctly spelt. "'Isn't that clever! Can he do any more?' cried Thornie, delighted. "'Lots! That's the way he gets his livin' and mine too,' answered Ben, and proudly put his poodle through his well-learned lessons with such success that even Miss Celia was surprised. "'He has been carefully trained. Do you know how it was done?' she asked, when Sancho lay down to rest and be caressed by the children. "'No, father did it when I was a little chap and never told me how. I used to help him teach him to dance, and that was easy enough. He's so smart. Father said the middle of the night was the best time to give him his lessons. It was so still then, and nothing disturbed Sancho and made him forget. I can't do half the tricks, but I'm going to learn when father comes back. He'd rather have me show off Sancho than ride till I'm older.' "'I have a charming book about animals, and in it an interesting account of some trained poodles who could do the most wonderful things. Would you like to hear it while you put your maps and puzzles together?' asked Miss Celia, glad to keep her brother interested in their four-footed guest at least. "'Yes, some, yes, some,' answered the children, and fetching the book she read the pretty account, shortening and simplifying it here and there to suit her hears. I invited the two dogs to dine and spend the evening, and they came with their master, who was a Frenchman. He had been a teacher in a deaf and dumb school, and thought he would try the same plan with dogs. He had also been a conjurer, and now was supported by Blanche and her daughter Lida. These dogs behaved at dinner just like other dogs, but when I gave Blanche a bit of cheese and asked if she knew the word for it, her master said she could spell it. So a table was arranged with a lamp on it, and round the table relayed the letters of the alphabet printed on cards. Blanche sat in the middle, waiting till her master told her to spell cheese, which she did at once in French, F-R-O-M-A-G-E. Then she translated a word for us very cleverly. Someone wrote, Ferd, the German for horse, on a slate. Blanche looked at it and pretended to read it, putting by the slate with her paw when she had done. Now give us the French for that word, said the man, and she instantly brought Cheval. Now, as you art an Englishman's house, give it to us in English. And she brought me horse. Then we spelt some words wrong, and she corrected them with wonderful accuracy, but she did not seem to like it, and whined and growled and looked so worried that she was allowed to go and rest and eat cakes in a corner. Then Lyda took her place on the table, and did sums on the slate with a set of figures, also mental arithmetic, which was very pretty. Now, Lyda, said her master, I want to see if you understand division. Suppose you had ten bits of sugar, and you met ten Prussian dogs. How many lumps would you, a French dog, give to each of the Prussians? Lyda very decidedly replied to this with a cipher. But suppose you divided your sugar with me. How many lumps would you give me? Lyda took up the figure five, and politely presented it to her master. Wasn't she smart? Sanch can't do that! exclaimed Ben, forced to own that the French doggy beat his cherished pet. He's not too old to learn. Shall I go on? asked Miss Celia, seeing that the boys liked it, though Betty was absorbed with the doll, and babbed deep in a puzzle. Oh, yes! What else did they do? They played a game of dominoes together, sitting in chairs opposite each other, and touched the dominoes that were wanted, but the man placed them and kept telling how the game went. Lyda was beaten and hit under the sofa evidently feeling very badly about it. Blanche was then surrounded with playing cards while her master held another pack and told us to choose a card. Then he asked her what one had been chosen, and she always took up the right one in her teeth. I was asked to go into another room, put a light on the floor with cards round it, and leave the doors nearly shut. Then the man begged someone to whisper in the dog's ear what card she was to bring, and she went at once and fetched it, thus showing that she understood their names. Lyda did many tricks with the numbers, so curious that no dog could possibly understand them, yet what the secret sign was I could not discover. But suppose it must have been in the tones of the master's voice, for he certainly made none with either head or hands. It took an hour a day for eighteen months to educate a dog enough to appear in public, and, as you say, Ben, the night was the best time to give the lessons. Soon after this visit the master died, and these wonderful dogs were sold, because their mistress did not know how to exhibit them. Wouldn't I have liked to see him and find out how they were taught? Sancho'll have to study up lively, for I'm not going to have you beaten by French dogs!" said Ben, shaking his fingers so sternly that Sancho groveled at his feet and put both paws over his eyes in the most abject manner. "'Is there a picture of those smart little poodles?' said Ben, eyeing the book which Miss Celia left open before her. Not of them, but of other interesting creatures. Also anecdotes about horses, which will please you, I know.' And she turned the pages for him, neither guessing how much good Mr. Hammerton's charming chapters on animals were to do the boy when he needed comfort for a sorrow which was very near. CHAPTER X. OF UNDER THE LIELUX. by Louisa May Orcott. CHAPTER X. A HEAVY TROUBLE. Thank you, ma'am, that's a tip-top book, especially the pictures, but I can't bear to see these poor fellows. And Ben brooded over the fine etching of the dead and dying horses on a battlefield. One passed all further pain, the other helpless, but lifting his head from his dead master to nay a farewell to the comrades who go galloping away in a cloud of dust. They all just stopped for him, some of them, muttered Ben, hostily turning back to the cheerful picture of the three happy horses in the field, standing knee-deep among the grass as they prepared to drink the wide stream. Ain't that black one a beauty? Seems as if I could see his mane blow in the wind, and earing Winnie to that small fella trotting down to see if he can't get over and be sociable. How I'd like to take a rousing run round that meadow on the old lot of him. And Ben swayed about in his chair, as if he was already doing it in imagination. You may take a turn round my field on Lita any day. She would like it, and Thornie's sadder will be here next week. Said Miss Celia, pleased to see that the boy appreciated the fine pictures, and felt such hearty sympathy with the noble animals whom she dearly loved herself. Needn't wait for that. I'd rather ride bareback. Oh, I say, is this the book you told about where the alt is talked? Asked Ben, suddenly recollecting the speech he had puzzled over ever since he heard it. No. I brought the book, but in the hurry of my tea-party forgot to unpack it. I'll hunt it up to-night. Remind me, Thornie. There now I've forgotten something too. Squire sent you a letter, and I'm having such a jolly time I never thought of it. Ben rummaged out the note with remorseful haste, protesting that he was in no hurry for Mr. Gulliver, and very glad to save him for another day. Leaving the young folks busy with their games, Miss Celia sat in the porch to read her letters, for there were two, and as she read her face grew so sober, and then so sad, that if any one had been looking he would have wondered what bad news had chased away the sunshine so suddenly. No one did look. No one saw how pitifully her eyes rested on Ben's happy face when the letters were put away, and no one minded the new gentleness in her manner as she came back to the table. But Ben thought there never was so sweet a lady as the one who leaned over him to show him how the dissected map went together and never smiled at his mistakes. So kind, so very kind was she to them all. But when, after an hour of merry play, she took her brother into bed, the three who remained felt appraising her enthusiastically as they put things to right before taking leave. She's like the good fairies in the books, and has all sorts of nice pretty things in her house. Said Betty, enjoying a last hug of the fascinating doll whose lids would shut so that it was a pleasure to sing, by, sweet baby, by, with no staring eyes to spoil the illusion. What heaps she knows, more than teacher I do believe, and she doesn't mind how many questions we ask. I like folks that will tell me things. Added Bab, whose inquisitive mind was always hungry. I like that boy first rate and I guess he likes me, though I didn't know where Nan took it all to go. He wants me to teach him to ride when he's on his pins again, and Miss Celia says I may. She knows how to make folks feel good, don't she? And Ben gratefully surveyed the Arab chief, now his own, though the best of all the collection. When we have splendid times, she says we may come over every night and play with her and Thony. And she's going to have the seats and the porch lift up, so we can put our things in there all day and have them handy. And I'm going to be a boy and stay here all the time. I guess the letter I brought was a recommend from the squire. Yes Ben, and if I had not already made up my mind to keep you before, I certainly would now my boy. Something in Miss Celia's voice, as she said the last two words with her hand on Ben's shoulder, made him look up quickly and turn red with pleasure, wondering what the squire had written about him. Mother must have some of the party, so you shall take her these, Pab, and Betty may carry Baby home for the night. She is so nicely asleep it is a pity to wake her. Goodbye till tomorrow, little neighbours, continued Miss Celia, and dismissed the girls with a kiss. Is Ben coming too? Asked Babb, as Betty trotted off in a silent rapture with the big darling bobbing over her shoulder. Not yet. I have several things to settle with my new man. Tell mother he will come by and by. Off rushed Babb with the plateful of goodies, and, drawing Ben down beside her on the wide step, Miss Celia took out the letters, with a shadow creeping over her face as softly as the twilight was stealing over the world, while the dew fell and everything grew still and dim. Ben, dear, I have something to tell you. She began slowly, and the boy waited with a happy face, for no one had called him so since Melia died. The squire has heard about your father, and this is the letter Mr. Smithers sends. Array! Where is he, please? cried Ben, wishing she would hurry up, but Miss Celia did not even offer him the letter, but sat looking down at Sancho on the lower step, as if she wanted him to come and help her. He went after the Mustangs, and sent some home, but could not come himself. Went for a run, I suppose? Yes, he said he might go as far as California, and if he did he'd send for me. I'd like to go there. It's a real splendid place, they say. He has gone further away than that, to a lovelier country than California, I hope. And Miss Celia's eyes turned to the deep sky, where early stars were shining. Didn't he send for me? Where's he gone? Where's he coming back? asked Ben quickly, for there was a quiver in her voice, the meaning of which he felt before he understood. Miss Celia put her arms about him, and answered very tenderly. Ben, dear, if I were to tell you that he was never coming back, could you bear it? I guess I could, but you don't mean it. Oh, mommy isn't dead! cried Ben, with a cry that made her heart ache, and Sancho loop up with a bark. My poor little boy, I wish I could say no. There was no need of any more words, no need of tears or kind arms around him. He knew he was an orphan now, and turned instinctively to the old friend who loved him best. Throwing himself down beside his dog, Ben clung about the curly neck, sobbing bitterly. Oh, Sancho, he's never coming back again! Never, never any more! Poor Sancho could only whine and lick away the tears that wet the half-hidden face, questioning the new friend meantime with eyes so full of dumb love and sympathy and sorrow that they seemed almost human. Wiping away her own tears, Miss Celia stooped to pat the white head, and to stroke the black one lying so near it that the dog's breast was the boy's pillow. Presently the sobbing ceased, and Ben whispered without looking up. Tell me all about it. I'll be good. Then, as kindly as she could, Miss Celia read the brief letter which told the hard news bluntly. For Mr. Smithers was obliged to confess that he had known the truth months before and never told the boy, lest he should be unfitted for the work they gave him. Of Ben Brown the elder's death there was little to tell, except that he was killed in some wild place at the West, and a stranger wrote the facts to the only person whose name was found in Ben's pocket-book. Mr. Smithers offered to take the boy back and do well by him, avering that the father wished his son to remain where he left him, and follow the profession to which he was trained. Will you go, Ben? asked Miss Celia, hoping to distract his mind from his grief by speaking of other things. No, no, I'd rather tramp than starve. It's all for all to me in Sanch, and it'd be worse now, father's gone. Don't send me back, let me stay here. Folks, good to me. There's nowhere else to go. And the head Ben had lifted up with a desperate sort of look, went down again on Sancho's breast, as if there were no other refuge left. You shall stay here, and no one shall take you away against your will. I called you my boy in play, now you should be my boy in earnest. This shall be your home and thawne meet your brother. We are orphans, too, and we will stand by one another till a stronger friend comes to help us. Said Miss Celia, with such a mixture of resolution and tenderness in her voice, that Ben felt comforted at once, and thanked her by laying his cheek against the pretty slipper that rested on the step beside him, as if he had no words in which to swear loyalty to the gentle mistress whom he meant henceforth to serve with grateful fidelity. Sancho felt that he must follow suit, and gravely put his paw upon her knee, with a low whine, as if he said, count me in, and let me help to pay my master's debt if I can. Miss Celia shook the offered paw cordially, and the good creature crouched at her feet like a small lion, bound to guard her and her house for ever more. Don't line that cold stone, Ben. Come here and let me try to comfort you. She said, stooping to wipe away the great drops that kept rolling down the brown cheek, half hidden in her dress. But Ben put his arm over his face, and sobbed out with a fresh burst of grief. You can't, you didn't know him. Oh, Daddy. Daddy, if I'd only seen you just once more. No one could grant that wish. But Miss Celia did comfort him, for presently the sound of music floated out from the partner. Music so soft, so sweet, that involuntarily the boy stopped his crying to listen. Then quieter tears dropped slowly, seeming to soothe his pain as they fell, while the sense of loneliness passed away, and it grew possible to wait till it was time to go to father, in that far-off country, lovelier than golden California. How long she played, Miss Celia never minded. But when she stole out to see if Ben had gone, she found that other friends, even kinder than herself, had taken the boy into their gentle keeping. The wind had sung a lullaby among the rustling lilacs. The moon's mild face looked through the leafy arch to kiss the heavy eyelids, and faithful Sancho still kept guard beside his little master. Who, with his head pillowed on his arm, lay fast asleep, dreaming happily that Daddy had come home again. CHAPTER XI. Sunday. Mrs. Moss woke Ben with a kiss next morning, for her heart yearned over the fatherless lad as if he had been her own, and she had no other way of showing her sympathy. Ben had forgotten his troubles in sleep, but the memory of them returned as soon as he opened his eyes, heavy with the tears they had shed. He did not cry any more, but felt strange and lonely till he called Sancho and told him all about it, for he was shy even with kind Mrs. Moss, and glad when she went away. Sancho seemed to understand that his master was in trouble, and listened to the sad little story with gargles of interest, whines of condolence, and intelligent barks whenever the word Daddy was uttered. He was only a brute, but his dumb affection comforted the boy more than any words. For Sancho had known and loved father almost as long and well as his son, and that seemed to draw them closely together now that they were left alone. We must put on mourning, old feller. It's the proper thing, and there's nobody else to do it now, said Ben as he dressed. Remembering how all the company wore bits of crepe somewhere about them at Melia's funeral. It was a real sacrifice of boyish vanity to take the blue ribbon with its silver anchors off the new hat, and replace it with the dingy black band from the old one. But Ben was quite sincere in doing this, though doubtless his theatrical life made him think of the effect more than other lads would have done. He could find nothing in his limited wardrobe with which to decorate Sanch, except a black cambrick pocket. It was already half tore out of his trousers, with the weight of nails, pebbles, and other light-triples, so he gave it a final wrench and tied it into the dog's collar, sanked himself as he put away his treasures with a sigh. One pocket is enough. I shan't want anything but a handkerchief to-day. Fortunately, that article of dress was clean, for he had but one, and with this somewhat ostentatiously drooping from the solitary pocket, the serious hat upon his head, the new shoes creaking mournfully, and Sanch gravely following, much impressed with his black bow, the chief mourner descended, feeling he had done his best to show respect to the dead. Mrs. Moss's eyes filled as she saw the rusty band and guessed why it was there. But she found it difficult to repress a smile when she beheld the cambrick symbol of woe on the dog's neck. Not a word was said to disturb the boy's comfort in these poor attempts, however, and he went out to do his chores conscious that he was an object of interest to his friends, especially so to Bab and Betty, who, having been told of Ben's loss, now regarded him with the sort of pitying awe, very grateful to his feelings. I want you to drive me to church by and by. It's going to be pretty warm, and Thorny is hardly strong enough to venture yet, said Miss Celia, when Ben ran over after breakfast to see if she had anything for him to do, for he considered her his mistress now, though he was not to take possession of his new quarters till the morrow. Yes, um, I'd like to, if I look well enough," answered Ben, pleased to be asked, but impressed with the idea that people had to be very fine on such occasions. You'll do very well when I have given you a touch. God doesn't mind our clothes, Ben, and the poor are as welcome as the rich to him. You have not been much, have you?" asked Miss Celia, anxious to help the boy, and not quite sure how to begin. Nomum. Our folks didn't hardly ever go, and father was so tired, he used to rest Sundays, or go off in the woods with me. A little quaver came into Ben's voice as he spoke, and a sudden motion made his hat brim hide his eyes, for the thought of the happy times that would never come any more was almost too much for him. That was a pleasant way to rest. I often do so, and we will go to the grove this afternoon and try it, but I have to go to church this morning. It seems to start me right for the week, and if one has a sorrow, that is the place where one can always find comfort. Will you come and try it, Ben, dear? I'll do anything to please you, muttered Ben, without looking up. For though he felt her kindness to the bottom of his heart, he did wish that no one would talk about father for a little while. It was so hard to keep from crying, and he hated to be a baby. Miss Celia seemed to understand. For the next thing she said, in a very cheerful tone, was, See what a pretty sight that is! Why, when I was a little girl, I used to think spiders spun cloth for the fairies and sped it on the grass to bleach. Ben stopped digging a hole in the ground with his toe, and looked up to see a lovely cobweb, like a wheel. Circle within circle, spun across a corner of the arch over the gate. Tiny drops glittered on every thread as the light shone through the gossamer curtain, and a soft breath of air made it tremble as if about to blow away. My pretty! The wolf fly off, just as the others did. I never saw such a chap as the spider is. He keeps on spinning a new one every day, and they always get broke, and he don't seem discouraged amite, said Ben, glad to change the subject, as she knew he would be. That's the way he gets his living. He spins his web and waits for his daily bread. Or fly, rather, as it always comes, I fancy. By and by you will see that pretty trap full of insects, and Mr. Spider will lay up his provisions for the day. After that he doesn't care how soon his fine web blows away. I know him. He's a handsome fellow, all black and yellow, and lives up in that corner where the shiny sort of hole is. He dives down the minute I touch the gate, but comes up after I've kept still a minute. I like to watch him. But he must hate me, for I took away an ice-green fly and some little millers one day. Did you ever hear the story of Bruce and his spider? Most children know one like that, said Miss Celia, seeing that he seemed interested. No, mum. I don't know ever so many things most children do, answered Ben soberly. For since he had been among his new friends, he had often felt his own deficiencies. Ha! But you know many things which they do not. Half the boys in town would give a great deal to be able to ride and run and leap as you do, and even the oldest are not as capable of taking care of themselves as you are. Your act of life has done much in some ways to make a man of you. But in other ways it was bad, as I think you begin to see. Now suppose you try to forget the harmful part, and remember only the good, while learning to be more like our boys, who will go to school and church, and fit themselves to become industrious, honest men. Ben had been looking straight up at Miss Celia's face as she spoke, feeling that every word was true, though he could not have expressed it if he had tried. And when she paused with her bright eyes inquiringly fixed on his, he answered heartily, I like to stay here and be respectable, for since it came I found out that folks don't think much of circus riders, though they like to go and see them. I don't used to care about school and such things, but I do now, and I guess he'd like it better than to have me knock and round that way without him to look after me. I know he would, and so we will try, Benny. I dare say it will seem dull and hard at first, after the gay sort of life you've led, and you'll miss the excitement. But it was not good for you, and we will do our best to find something safer. Don't be discouraged. And when things trouble you, come to me, as Thorny does, and I'll try to straighten them out for you. I've got two boys now, and I want to do my duty to both. Before Ben had time for more than a grateful look, a tumbled head appeared over the upper window, and a sleepy voice rolled out, Celia, I can't find a bit of shoestring, and I wish you'd come and do my necktie. Lazy boy, come down here and bring one of your black ties with you. Shoestrings are in the little brown bag on my bureau, called back Miss Celia, adding with a laugh as the tumbled head disappeared, mumbling something about ballering old bags. Thorny's been half spoiled since he was ill. You mustn't mind his fidgets and dawdling ways. He'll get over them soon. And then I know you two will be good friends. Ben had his doubts about that, but resolved to do his best for her sake. So, when Master Thorny presently appeared with a careless, how are you, Ben? That young person answered respectfully. Very well, thank you, though his nod was as condescending as his new masters, because he felt that a boy who could ride bareback and turn a double somersault in the air ought not to knuck a lunder to a fellow who had not the strength of a pussycat. Sailor's not, please. Keeps better so," said Thorny, holding up his chin to have a blue silk scarf tied to suit him, for he was already beginning to be something of a dandy. He ought to wear red till you get more color, dear," said his sister, rubbing her blooming cheek against his pale one, as if to lend him some of her own roses. Men don't care how they look, said Thorny, squirming out of her hole, for he hated to be cuddled before people. Oh, don't they? Here's a vain boy who brushes his hair a dozen times a day, and quittles over his collar till he's so tired he can hardly stand, laughed Miss Celia with a little tweak of his ear. I should like to know what this is for, demanded Thorny in a dignified tone, presenting a black tie. For my other boy, he's going to church with me, and Miss Celia tied a second knot for this young gentleman with a smile that seemed to brighten up even the rusty hat-band. Well, I like that," began Thorny, in a tone that contradicted his words. A look from his sister reminded him of what she had told him half an hour ago. And he stopped short, understanding now why she was extra good to the little tramp. So do I. For you have no use as a driver yet, and I don't like to fasten Lito when I've got my best gloves on, said Miss Celia, in a tone that rather nettle to master, Thorny. It's been going to black my boots before he goes, with a glance at the new shoes which caused them to creak uneasily. No, he's going to black mine if he'll be so kind. You won't need boots for a week yet, and we won't waste any time over them. You'll find everything in the shed, Ben, and a ten you may go for Lita. With that, Miss Celia walked her brother off to the dining room, and Ben retired to vent his ire in such energetic demonstrations with the blacking-brush that the little boots shone splendidly. He thought he'd never seen anything as pretty as his mistress, when an hour later she came out of the house in her white shawl and bonnet, holding a book and a late lily of the valley in the pearl-colored gloves, which he hardly dared to touch as he helped her into the carriage. He had seen a good many fine ladies in his life, and those he had known had been very gay in the colors of their hats and gowns, very fond of cheap jewelry, and very much given to feathers, lace, and furblows. So it rather puzzled him to discover why Miss Celia looked so sweet and elegant in such a simple suit. He did not then know that the charm was in the woman, not the clothes, or that merely living near such a person would do more to give him gentle manners, good principles, and pure thoughts than almost any other training he could have had. But he was conscious that it was pleasant to be there, neatly dressed, in good company, and going to church like a respectable boy. Somehow the lonely feeling got better as he rolled along between green fields, with the June sunshine brightening everything, a restful quiet in the air, and a friend beside him, who sat silently looking out at the lovely world with what he afterward learned to call her Sunday face. A soft, happy look, as if all the work and weariness of the past week were forgotten, and she were ready to begin afresh when this blessed day was over. "'Well, child, what is it?' she asked, catching his eyes, he stole a shy glance at her, one of many which she had not yet seen. I was only thinking, you looked as if—as if what? Don't be afraid,' she said, for Ben paused, and fumbled at the reins, feeling half ashamed to tell his fancy. "'You were saying prayers,' he added, wishing she had not caught him. So I was. Don't you, when you're happy?' "'No, mum. I'm glad. I don't say anything.' Words are not needed, but they help sometimes, if they're sincere and sweet. Did you never learn any prayers, Ben?' "'Only now I lay me. Grandma taught me that when I was a little might of a boy. I'll teach you another, and the best that ever was made, because it says all we need to ask. Our folks weren't very pious. They didn't have time, I suppose. I wonder if you know just what it means to be pious. Go on to church and read in the Bible and say in prayers and hymns, ain't it? Those things are part of it. But being kind and cheerful, doing one's duty, helping others, and loving God, is the best way to show that we are pious and the true sense of the word. Then you are!' And Ben looked as if her acts had been a better definition than her words. I try to be. But I very often fail, so every Sunday I make new resolutions and work hard to keep them through the week, and that's a great help, as you will find if you begin to try it. Do you think, if I said, in Meaton, I won't ever swear any more, that I wouldn't do it again? Asked Ben soberly, for that was his besetting sin just now. I'm afraid we can't get rid of our faults quite so easily. I wish we could, but I do believe that if you keep saying that, and trying to stop, you will cure the habit sooner than you think. I never did swear very bad. I didn't mind too much till I came here, but Vab and Betty looked so scared when I said, damn, and Miss Moss scolded me so, I tried to leave off. It's dreadful hard, though, when I get mad. Hang it! Don't seem half so good when I want to let off steam. Thorny used to confound everything, so I proposed that he should whistle instead, and now he sometimes pipes up so suddenly, and shrilly, that it makes me jump. How would that do, instead of swearing, proposed Miss Sealy, and not the least surprise of the habit of profanity, which the boy could hardly help learning among his former associates? Ben laughed and promised to try it, feeling a mischievous satisfaction at the prospect of outwisling Master Thorny, as he knew he should, for the objectionable words rose to his lips a dozen times a day. The bell was ringing as they drove into town, and by the time Leta was comfortably settled into her shed. People were coming up from all quarters to cluster around the steps of the old meeting-house like bees about a hive. A custom to attend, where people kept their hats on, Ben forgot all about his, and was going down the aisle covered when a gentle hand took it off, and Miss Celia whispered, as she gave it to him, This is a holy place. Remember that, and uncover at the door. Much abashed, Ben followed to the pew, where the squire and his wife soon joined them. Glad to see him here, said the old gentleman with an approving nod, as he recognized the boy and remembered his loss. Hope he won't nestle round in meeting-time, whispered Mrs. Allen, composing herself in the corner with much rustling of black silk. I'll take care he doesn't disturb you, answered Miss Celia, pushing a stool under the short legs and drawing a palm leaf fan within each. Ben gave an inward sigh at the prospect before him, for hours captivity to an active lad is hard to bear, and he really did want to behave well. So he folded his arms and sat like a statue, with nothing moving but his eyes. They rolled to and fro up and down, from the high red pulpit to the worn hymn-books in the rack, recognizing two little faces under blue ribboned hats and a distant pew and finding it impossible to restrain a momentary twinkle in return for the solemn wink Billy Barton bestowed upon him across the aisle. Ten minutes of this decorous demeanor made it absolutely necessary for him to stir. So he unfolded his arms and crossed his legs as cautiously as a mouse moves in the presence of a cat, for Mrs. Allen's eye was on him, and he knew by experience that it was a very sharp one. The music which presently began was a great relief to him, for under cover of it he could wag his foot, and no one heard the Greek thereof. And when they stood up to sing, he was so sure that all the boys were looking at him that he was glad to sit down again. The good old minister read the sixteenth chapter of Samuel, and then proceeded to preach a long, somewhat dull sermon. Ben listened with all his ears, for he was interested in the young shepherd, ruddy, and of beautiful countenance, who was chosen to be Saul's armor-bearer. He wanted to hear more about him and how he got on, and whether the evil spirits troubled Saul again after David had harped them out. But nothing more came, and the old gentleman droned on about other things till poor Ben felt he must either go to sleep like the squire, or tip the stool over by accident, since nestling was forbidden, and relief of some sort he must have. Mrs. Allen gave him a peppermint, and he dutifully ate it, that was so hot it made his eyes water. Then she fanned him to his great annoyance where it blew his hair about, and the pride of his life was to have his head as smooth and shiny as black satin. An irrepressible sigh of weariness attracted Miss Celia's attention at last, for though she seemed to be listening devoutly, her thoughts had flown over the sea, with tender prayers for one whom she loved even more than David did his Jonathan. She guessed the trouble in a minute, and had provided for it, knowing by experience that few small boys can keep quiet through sermon time. Finding a certain place in the little book she had brought, she put it into his hands with the whisper, Read, If You're Tired. Ben clutched the book and gladly obeyed, though the title, Scripture Narratives, did not look very inviting. Then his eye found the picture of a slender youth cutting a large man's head off, while many people stood looking on. Jack, the giant killer, thought Ben, and turned the page to see the words David and Goliath, which was enough to set him to reading the story with great interest, for here was the shepherd boy, turned into a hero. No more fidgets now. The sermon was no longer heard, the fan flapped unfelt, and Billy Barton's spirited sketches in the hymn-book were vainly held up for admiration. Ben was quite absorbed in the starring history of King David, told in a way that fitted it for children's reading, and illustrated with fine pictures which charmed the boy's eye. Sermon and story ended at the same time, and while he listened to the prayer, Ben felt as if he understood now what Miss Celia meant by saying that words helped when they were well chosen and sincere. Several petitions seemed as if especially intended for him, and he repeated them to himself that he might remember them. They sounded so sweet and comfortable, heard for the first time just when he most needed comfort. Miss Celia saw a new expression in the boy's face as she glanced down at him, and heard a little humming at her side when all stood up to sing the cheerful hymn, with which they were dismissed. How do you like church? asked the young lady as they drove away. First rate, answered Ben heartily. Especially the sermon? Ben laughed, and said with an affectionate glance at the little book in her lap. I couldn't understand it, but that story was just elegant. There's more, and I'd admire to read them if I could. I'm glad you like them, and we'll keep the rest for another sermon time. Tharny used to do so, and always called this his pew-book. I don't expect you to understand much of what you hear yet a while, but it is good to be there, and after reading this story you'll be more interested when you hear the names of the people mentioned here. Yes, ma'am, wasn't David a fine-feller? I liked all about the kid and the corn, and the ten cheeses and killing the lion and bear, and slinging old Goliath a dead first shot. I want to know about Joseph next time, for I saw a gang of robbers putting him in a hole, and it looked real interesting. Miss Celia could not help smiling at Ben's way of telling things, but she was pleased to see that he was attracted by the music and the stories, and resolved to make church-going so pleasant that he would learn to love it for its own sake. Now, you've tried my way this morning. We will try yours this afternoon. Come over about four and help me roll Tharny down to the grove. I'm going to put one of the hammocks there, because the smell of the pines is good for him, and you can talk or read or amuse yourselves in any quiet way you like. Can I take Sanch along? He doesn't like to be left, and I felt real bad because I shut him up for fear he'd follow, and come walking in to meet and to find me. Oh, yes, indeed. Let the clever Bow Wow have a good time, and enjoy Sunday as much as I want my boys to. Quite content with this arrangement, Ben went home to dinner, which he made very lively by recounting Billy Barton's ingenious devices to beguile the tedium of sermon time. He said nothing of his conversation with Miss Celia, because he had not quite made up his mind whether he liked it or not. It was so new and serious. He felt as if he had better lay it by to think over a good deal before he could understand all about it. But he had time to get dismal again and long before four o'clock, because he had nothing to do except whittle. Mrs. Moss went to take a nap, and Bab and Betty sat demirally on their bench reading Sunday books. No boys were allowed to come and play. Even the hens retired under the current bushes, and the cocks stood among them, clucking drowsily, as if reading them a sermon. Ha! dreadful slow day! thought Ben. And retiring to the recesses of his own room he read over the two letters which seemed already old to him. Now that the first shock was over, he could not make it true that his father was dead and he gave up trying, for he was an honest boy, and felt that it was foolish to pretend to be more unhappy than he really was. So he put away his letters, and took the black pocket off Sansh's neck, and allowed himself to whistle softly as he packed up his possessions, ready to move next day with few regrets and many bright anticipations for the future. Thornie, I want you to be good to Ben, and amuse him in some quiet way this afternoon. I must stay and see the Marises who are coming over, but you can go to the Grove and have a pleasant time, said Miss Celia to her brother. Ha! not much fun in talking to that horsey fellow. I'm sorry for him, but I can't do anything to amuse him, objected Thornie, pulling himself up from the sofa with a great yawn. You can be very agreeable when you like, and Ben has had enough of me for this time. Tomorrow he will have his work, and do very well, but we must try to help him through to-day, because he doesn't know what to do with himself. Besides, it's just the time to make a good impression on him, while grief for his father softens him, and gives us a chance. I like him. I'm sure he wants to do well, so it's our duty to help him, as there seems to be no one else. Here goes then. Where is he? And Thornie stood up, one by his sister's sweet earnestness, but very doubtful of his own success with the horsey fellow. Waiting with the chair. Randa has gone on with the hammock. Be a dear boy, and I'll do as much for you some day. Ha! don't see how you can be a dear boy. You're the best sister that ever was, so I'll love all the scallywags you ask me to. With a laugh and a kiss Thornie shambled off to ascend his chariot, good-humoredly saluting his pusher whom he found sitting on the high rail behind with his feet on saunch. Drive on, Benjamin. I don't know the way, so I can't direct. Don't spill me out, that's all I've got to say. All right, sir, and away Ben trundled down the long walk that led to the orchard to a little grove of seven pines. A pleasant spot. For a soft rustle filled the air. A brown carpet of pine needles with fallen cones for a pattern lay underfoot, and over the tops of the tall breaks that fringed the knoll, one had glimpses of a hill and a valley, farmhouses and winding river like a silver ribbon through the low green meadows. A regular summer-house, said Thornie, surveying it with approval. What's the matter, Randa, won't it do? he asked as the stout maid dropped her arms with a puff after vainly trying to throw the hammock-rope over a branch. Ah! and went up beautiful, but this one won't. The branches are so high I can't reach them and I'm no hand at flinging ropes round. I'll fix it. And Ben went up the pine like a squirrel, tied a stout knot, and swung himself down again before Thornie could get out of his chair. My patience! What a spry boy! exclaimed Randa admiringly. That's nothing. You ought to see me shin up a smooth dent-pole, said Ben, rubbing the pitch off his hands with a boastful wag of the head. You can go, Randa. Just hand me my cushion and books, Ben. Then you can sit in the chair while I talk to you, Command at Thornie, tumbling into the hammock. What's he going to say to me? wondered Ben to himself as he sat down with Sanch sprawling among the wheels. Now, Ben, I think you better learn a hymn. I always used to when I was a little chap, and it's a good thing to do Sundays. Began the new teacher with a patronising air which ruffled his pupil as much as the apobreous term little chap. I'll be poot if I do whistle Ben stopping an oath just in time. It's not polite to whistle in company, said Thornie, with great dignity. Miss Celia told me, too. I'll say confounded if you like that better, answered Ben, as a sly smile twinkled in his eyes. Oh, I see! She's told you about it. Well, then, if you want to please her, you'll learn a hymn right off. Come now. She wants me to be clever to you, and I'd like to do it. But if you get peppery, how can I? Thornie spoke in a hearty blunt way which suited Ben much better than the other, and he responded pleasantly. Well, if you won't be grand, I won't be peppery. Nobody's going to boss me but Miss Celia, so I'll learn hymns if she wants me to. In the soft season of thy youth—that's a good one to begin with—I learned it when I was six—nice thing, better have it—and Thornie offered the book like a patriarch addressing an infant. Ben, surveyed the yellow page, was small favour, for the long S in the old-fashioned printing bewildered him, and when he came to the last two lines he could not resist reading them wrong. The earth affords no lovelier fight than a religious youth. I don't believe I could ever get that into my head straight. Haven't you got a plain one anywhere round? he asked, turning over the leaves with some anxiety. Look at the end and see if there isn't a piece of poetry pasted in. You learn that and see how funny Celia will look when you say it to her. She wrote it when she was a girl, and somebody had it printed for other children. I like it best myself. Pleased by the prospect of a little fun to cheer his virtuous task, Ben whisked over the leaves and read with interest the lines Miss Celia had written in her girlhood. My Kingdom A little kingdom I possess where thoughts and feelings dwell, and very hard I find the task of governing it well, for passion tempts and troubles me. A wayward will misleads, and selfishness its shadow casts on all my words and deeds. How can I learn to rule myself to be the child I should? Honest and brave, no-ever tire of trying to be good. How can I keep a sunny soul to shine along life's way? How can I tune my little heart to sweetly sing all day? Dear Father, help me with the love that casteth out my fear. Teach me to lean on thee and feel that thou art very near, that no temptation is unseen, no childish grief too small. Since thou with patience infinite doth soothe and comfort all. I do not ask for any crown, but that which all may will, nor seek to conquer any world except the one within. But be my guide until I find led by a tender hand, thy happy kingdom in myself, and dare to take command. I like that, said Ben emphatically when he'd read the little hymn. I understand it, and I'll learn it right away. Don't see how she could make it all come out so nice and pretty. Celia can do anything, and Thornie gave an all-embracing wave of the hand which forcibly expressed his firm belief in a sister's boundless powers. I made some poetry once. Bab and Betty thought it was first straight. I didn't, said Ben, moved confidence by the discovery of Miss Celia's poetic skill. Say it, commanded Thornie, adding with tact. I can't make any to save my life. Never could, but I'm fond of it. Chevalita, pretty creature, I do love her like a brother, just to ride is my delight, for she does not kick or bite, recited Ben with modest pride, for his first attempt had been inspired by sincere affection and pronounced lovely by the admiring girls. Very good! You must say them to Celia, too. She likes to hear Lita praised. You and she and that little Barlow boy ought to try for a prize, as the poets did in Athens. I'll tell you all about her some time. Now you peg away at your hymn. Cheered by Thornie's commendation, Ben fell to work at his new task, squirming about in the chair as if the process of getting words into his memory was a very painful one. But he had quick wits, and had often learned comic songs, so he soon was able to repeat the four verses without mistake, much to his own and Thornie's satisfaction. Now we'll talk, said the well-pleased preceptor, and talk they did. One swinging in the hammock, the other rolling about on the pine needles, as they related their experiences boy fashion. Ben's were the most exciting, but Thornie's were not without interest, for he had lived abroad for several years, and could tell all sorts of droll stories of the countries he had seen. Busy'd with friends, Miss Celia could not help wondering how the lands got on, and went the tea-ball rang, waited a little anxiously for their return, knowing that she could tell at a glance if they had enjoyed themselves. Hall goes well so far, she thought, as she watched their approach with a smile. For Sancho sat bolt upright in the chair, which Ben pushed, while Thornie strolled beside him, leaning on a stout cane newly cut. Both boys were talking busily, and Thornie laughed from time to time, as if his comrade's chat was very amusing. See, what a jolly cane Ben cut for me! He's great fun if you don't stroke him the wrong way, said the elder lad, flourishing his staff as they came up. What have you been doing down there? You look so merry, I suspect mischief. It's asked Miss Celia, surveying them front the steps. We've been good as gold. I talked, and Ben learned to him to please you. Come, young man, say your peace, said Thornie, with an expression of virtuous content. Taking off his hat, Ben soberly obeyed, much enjoying the quick colour that came up in Miss Celia's face as she listened, and feeling as if well repaid for the labour of learning, by the pleased look with which she said as he ended with a bow. I feel very proud to think you chose that, and to hear you say it as if it meant something to you. I was only fourteen when I wrote it, but it came right out of my heart, and did me good. I hope it may help you a little. Ben murmured that he guessed it would, but felt too shy to talk about such things before Thornie, so hastily retired to put the chair away, and the others went into tea. But later in the evening, when Miss Celia was singing like a nightingale, the boy slipped away from the sleepy bab and beddy, to stand by the syringeibush and listen with his heart full of a new thought and happy feelings, for never before had he spent a Sunday like this. And when he went to bed, instead of saying, Now I lay me, he repeated the third verse of Miss Celia's hymn, for that was his favourite, because his longing for the father whom he had seen made it seem sweet and natural, now to love and lean without fear upon the father whom he had not seen. CHAPTER XII Good times. One was very kind to Ben when his loss was known. The squire wrote to Mr. Smithers that the boy had found friends and would stay where he was. Mrs. Moss consoled him in her motherly way, and the little girls did their best to be good to poor Benny. But Miss Celia was his truest comforter, and completely won his heart. Not only by the friendly words she said and the pleasant things she did, but by the unspoken sympathy which showed itself just at the right minute, in a look, a touch, a smile, more helpful than any amount of condolence. She called him my man, and Ben tried to be one, bearing his trouble so bravely that she respected him, although he was only a little boy, because it promised well for the future. Then she was so happy herself it was impossible for those about her to be sad, and Ben soon grew cheerful again in spite of the very tender memory of his father laid quietly away in the safest corner of his heart. He would have been a very unboyish boy if he had not been happy, for the new place was such a pleasant one. He soon felt as if, for the first time, he really had a home. No more grubbing now, but daily tasks which never grew tiresome. They were so varied and so light. No more cross-pats to try his temper, but the sweetest mistress that ever was, since praise was oftener on her lips than blame, and gratitude made willing service a delight. At first it seemed as if there was going to be trouble between the two boys. For Thornay was naturally masterful, and illness had left him weak and nervous, so he was often both domineering and petulant. Ben had been taught instant obedience to those older than himself, and if Thornay had been a man, Ben would have made no complaint, but it was hard to be ordered round by a boy and an unreasonable one into the bargain. A word for Miss Celia blew away the threatening cloud, however, and for her sake her brother promised to try to be patient. For her sake Ben declared that he would never get mad if Mr. Thornay did fidget, and both very soon forgot all about master and man, and lived together like two friendly lads, taking each other's ups and downs good-naturedly, and finding mutual pleasure and profit in the new companionship. The only point on which they never could agree was legs, and many a hearty laugh did they give Miss Celia by their warm and serious discussion of this vexed question. Thornay insisted that Ben was bowlegged. Ben resented the epitent, and declared that the legs of all good horsemen must have a slight curve, and anyone who knew anything about the matter would acknowledge both its necessity and its beauty. Then Thornay would observe that it might be all very well in the saddle, but it made a man waddle like a duck when a foot. Wereet Ben would retort that, for his part, he would rather waddle like a duck than tumble about like a horse with the staggers. He had his opponent there. Poor Thornay did very look like a weak-need colt when he tried to walk, but he would never own it. And he came down upon Ben with crushing allusions to centaurs, or the Greeks and Romans who were famous both for their horsemanship and fine limbs. Ben could not answer that, except by proudly referring to the chariot races copied from the ancients in which he had borne a part, which was more than some folk with long legs could say. Gentlemen never did that sort of thing, nor did they twit their best friends with their misfortunes, Thornay would remark, casting a pince of glance at his thin hands, longing the while to give Ben a good shaking. This hint would remind the other of his young master's late sufferings, and all he owed his dear mistress, and he usually ended the controversy by turning a few lively somersaults as a vent for his swelling wrath, and come up with his temper all right again. Or, if Thornay happened to be in the wheeled chair, he would trot him round the garden at a pace which nearly took his breath away, thereby proving that if bow legs were not beautiful some benighted beings they were good to go. Thornay liked that, and would drop the subject for a time by politely introducing some more agreeable topic. So the impending quarrel would end in a laugh over some boyish joke, and the word legs be avoided by mutual consent till accident brought it up again. The spirit of rivalry is hidden in the best of us, and is a helpful and inspiring power, if we know how to use it. Miss Celia knew this, and tried to help the lads help one another by means of it, not in boastful or ungenerous comparison of each other's gifts, but by interchanging them, giving and taking freely, kindly, and being glad to love what was admirable wherever they found it. Thornay admired Ben's strength, activity, and independence. Ben envied Thornay's learning, good manners, and comfortable surroundings, and, when a wise word had set the matter rightly before them, both enjoyed the feeling that there was a certain equality between them, since money could not buy health, and practical knowledge was as useful as any that could be found in books. So they interchanged their small experiences, accomplishments, and pleasures, and both were the better as well as the happier for it, because in this way only can we truly love our neighbour as our self, and get the real sweetness out of life. There was no end to the new and pleasant things Ben had to do, from keeping pals and flower beds neat, feeding the pets and running errands, to waiting on Thornay and being right-hand man to Miss Celia. He had a little room in the old house, newly papered with hunting scenes, which he was never tired of admiring. In the closet hung several outgrown suits of Thornay's made over for his valet, and what Ben valued infinitely more, a pair of boots, well-blacked, ready for grand occasions when he rode abroad with one old spur found in the attic, brightened up, and merely worn for show, since nothing would have induced him to prick beloved Leta with it. Many pictures cut from illustrated papers of races, animals, and birds were stuck round the room, giving it rather the air of a circus and menagerie. This, however, made it only the more home-like to its present-owner, who felt exceedingly rich and respectable as he surveyed his premises, almost like a retired showman who still fondly remembers past successes, though no happy in the more private walks of life. In one drawer of the quaint little biara which he used were kept the relics of his father, very few and poor, and of no interest to any one but himself, only the letter telling of his death, a worn-out watch chain, and a photograph of Seigneur José Montebello, with his youthful son standing on his head, both eerily attired and both smiling with the calmly superior expression which gentlemen of their profession usually wear in public. Ben's other treasures had been stolen with his bundle. But these he cherished, and often looked at when he went to bed, wondering what heaven was like, since it was lovelier than California, and usually fell asleep with a dreamy impression that it must be something like America when Columbus found it, a pleasant land, where were gay flowers and tall trees with leaves and fruit such as they had never seen before. And through this happy hunting-ground, father was forever riding on a beautiful white horse with wings, like the one of which Messilia had a picture. Nice times Ben had in his little room pouring over his books, for he soon had several of his own, but his favorites were Hamilton's animals and our dumb friends, both full of interesting pictures and anecdotes such as Boy's Love. Still nicer times, working about the house, helping get things in order, and best of all, were the daily drives of Messilia and Thorny, when weather permitted, or solitary rides to town through the heaviest rain for certain letters must go and come, no matter how the elements raged. The neighbors soon got used to the antics of that boy, but Ben knew that he was an object of interest as he careened down the main street in a way that made old ladies cry out and brought people flying to the window, sure that someone was being run away with. Lita enjoyed the fun as much as he, and apparently did her best to send him heels overhead, having rapidly earned to understand the signs he gave her by the touch of hand and foot, or the tones of his voice. These performances caused the boys to regard Ben Brown with intense admiration, and the girls, with timid awe. All but Bab, who burned to imitate him, and tried her best whenever she got the chance, much to the anguish and dismay of poor Jack, for that long-suffering animal was the only steed she was allowed to ride. Fortunately, neither she nor Betty had much time for play just now, as school was about to close for the long vacation, and all the little people were busy finishing up that they might go out to play with free minds. So the lilac parties, as they called them, were deferred till later, and the lads amused themselves in their own way with mycelia to suggest and advise. It took Thorney a long time to arrange his possessions, for he could only direct while Ben unpacked, wondering and admiring as he worked, because he had never seen so many boyish treasures before. The little printing press was his especial delight, and leaving everything else in confusion, Thorney taught him it, and planned a newspaper on the spot, with Ben for printer, himself for editor, and sister for chief contributor, while Bab should be Carrier and Betty, office boy. Next came a postage stamp book, and a rainy day was happily spent in pasting a new collection where each particular one belonged, with copious explanations from Thorney as they went along. Ben did not feel any great interest in this amusement after one trial of it, but when a book containing patterns of the flags of all nations turned up, he was seized with a desire to copy them all, so that the house could be fitly decorated on Gala occasions. Finding that it amused her brother, Mycelia generously opened her peace- drawer and rag-bag, and as the mania grew till her resources were exhausted, she bought bits of gay cambrick and many-colored papers, and startled the storekeeper by purchasing several bottles of mucilage at once. Babs and Betty were invited to sew the bright strips of stars, and pricked their little fingers assiduously, finding this sort of needlework much more attractive than piecing bed-quills. Such as snipping and pasting, planning and stitching as went on in the big-back room which was given up to them, and such a noble array of banners and petitions as soon decorated its walls would have caused the dullest eye to brighten with amusement, if not with admiration. Of course, the stars and stripes hung highest, with the English lion ramping up the royal standard close by. Then followed a regular picture gallery, for there was the white elephant of Siam, the splendid peacock of Burma, the double-headed Russian eagle, the black dragon of China, the winged lion of Venice, and the prancing pair on the red-white-im blue flag of Holland. The keys and mitre of the papal states were a hard job, but up they went at last, with the yellow crescent of Turkey on one side, and the full red moon of Japan on the other. The pretty blue and white flag of Greece hung below, and the cross of Free Switzerland above. If materials had held out the flags of all the United States would have followed, but paste and patience were exhausted, so the busy workers rested a while before they flung their banner to the breeze as the newspapers have it. A spell of shipbuilding and rigging followed the flag fit, for Thorny, feeling too old now for such toys, made over his whole fleet to the children, condescending, however, to superintend the thorough repairing of the same, before he disposed of all but the big man of war, which continued ornament his own room with all sail set, and a little red officer perpetually waving his sword on the quarter-deck. These gifts led to out-of-door waterworks, for the brook had to be dammed up, with a shallow ocean might be made, for Ben's piratical red rover with the black flag might chase and capture Bab's smart-fricot queen, while the bounding Betsy laid in with Lumber safely sailed from Kennebunkport to Massachusetts Bay. Thorny, from his chair, was chief engineer, and directed his gang of one, how to dig the basin, throw up the embankment, and finally let in the water till the mimic ocean was full. Then, regulate the little water-gate lest it should overflow and wreck the pretty squadron, or ships, boats, canoes, and rafts, which soon rode anchor there. Digging and paddling in mud and water proved such a delightful pastime that the boys kept it up, till a series of water-wheels, little mills, and cataracts made the once quiet brook look as if a manufacturing-town were about to spring up where hither two minnows had played in peace, and the retiring frog had chanted to serenade unmolested. Miss Celia liked all this, for anything which would keep Thorny happy out of doors, and the sweet June-weather found favour in her eyes. And when the novelty had worn off from home affairs she planned a series of exploring expeditions which filled their boyish souls with delight. As none of them knew much about the place it really was quite exciting to start off on a bright morning with a roll of wraps and cushions, lunch-books, and drawing materials packed into the faton, and drive at random about the shady roads and lanes, pausing when and where they liked. Wonderful discoveries were made, pretty places were named, plans were drawn, and all sorts of merry adventures befell the pilgrims. Each day was camped in a new spot, and while it nibbled the fresh grass at her ease, Miss Celia sketched under the big umbrella. Thorny read or lounged or slept in his rubber blanket, and Ben made himself generally useful. Unloading, filling the artist's water-bottle, piling the invalid's cushions, setting out the lunch, running to and fro for a bow or a butterfly, climbing a tree to report the view, reading, chatting or frolicking with Sancho. Any sort of duty was in Ben's line, and he did them all well, for an out-of-door life was natural to him, and he liked it. Ben, I want an Emanuensis, said Thorny, dropping book and pencil one day after a brief interval of silence, broken only by the whisper of the young leaves overhead, and the soft babble of the brook close by. A what? asked Ben, pushing back his hat, with such an air of amazement, that Thorny rather loftily inquired. Don't you know what an Emanuensis is? Well, no. Not unless it's some relation to an anaconda. I shouldn't think you'd want one of them, anyway. Thorny rolled over with a hoot of derision, and his sister, who sat close by, sketching an old gate, looked up to see what was going on. Well, you needn't laugh at a filler. You didn't know what a wombat was when I asked you and I didn't roar, said Ben, giving his hat a slap as if nothing else was handy. The idea of watching an anaconda tickled me so, I couldn't help it. I daresay you've got me one if I asked for it. You're such an obliging chap. Of course I would if I could. I shouldn't be surprised if you did some day you want such funny things, answered Ben, appeased by the compliment. I'll try the Emanuensis first. It's only someone to write for me. I get so tired doing it without a table. You write well enough. It be good for you to know something about Botany. I intend to teach you, Ben," said Thorny, as if conferring a great favour. It looks pretty hard, muttered Ben, with a doleful glance at the book laid open upon a strew of torn leaves and flowers. No it isn't. It's regularly jolly, and you'd be no end of help if you only knew a little. Now suppose I say, bring me a renunculus bulbosis. How would you know what I wanted? demanded Thorny, waving his microscope, with a learned air. Mmm, shouldn't. There are quantities of them all around us, and I want to analyse one. See if you can't guess. Ben stared vaguely from earth to sky, and was about to give up when a butter-cup fell at his feet, and he caught sight of Miss Celia smiling at him from behind her brother, who did not see the flower. Suppose you mean this? I don't call her my noceros bulbosis, so I wasn't sure. And taking the hint as quickly as it was given, Ben presented the butter-cup as if he knew all about it. You guessed that remarkably well. Now bring me a liantodontoraxicum, said Thorny, charmed with the quickness of his pupil, and glad to display his learning. Again Ben gazed, but the field was full of early flowers, and if a long pencil had not pointed to a dandelion close by he would have been lost. Here you are, sir, he answered with a chuckle, and Thorny took his turn at being astonished now. How the dickens did you know that? Try it again, and maybe you'll find out, laughed Ben. Diving haphazard into his book, Thorny demanded a trifolium-pratence, the clever pencil pointed, and Ben brought a red clover, mightily enjoying the joke and thinking that their kind of botany wasn't bad fun. Look here! No fooling, and Thorny sat up to investigate the matter so quickly that his sister had not time to sober down. Ah! I've got you! Not fair to tell, Celia. Now, Ben, you've got to learn all about this butter-cup to pay for cheating. Very good, sir. Bring on your rhinoceros, answered Ben, who couldn't help imitating his old friend the clown, when he felt particularly jolly. Sit here and write what I tell you, ordered Thorny, with all the severity of a strict school-master. Perching himself on the mossy stump, Ben obediently floundered through the following analysis, with constant help in the spelling, and much private wonder what would come of it. Phenogamous, exogenous, angiosperm polypetilis, stamens more than ten, stamens on the receptacle, pistils more than one and separate, leaves without stipules, growfoot family, genus renunculus, botanical name renunculus bulbosis. Jerusalem! What a flower! Pistols and crows feet, and polyput the kettles on, and angiosperms, and all the rest of them. If that's your botany, I won't take any more, thank you," said Ben, as he paused as red and hot as if he'd been running a race. Yes, you will. You'll learn them all by heart. And then I shall give you a dandelion to do. You'll like that, because it means dandelion, or lion's tooth, and I'll show them to you through my glass. You've no idea how interesting it is, and what heaps of pretty things you'll see," answered Thorny, who had already discovered how charming the study was, and had found great satisfaction in it since he had been forbidden more active pleasures. What's the good of it anyway? asked Ben, who had rather been set to mowing the big field than to the task before him. It tells all about it in my book here—Grey's Botany for Young People. But I can tell you what use it is to us, continued Thorny, crossing his legs in the air and preparing to argue the matter, comfortably lying flat on his back. We are a scientific exploration society, and we must keep an account of all the plants, animals, minerals, and so on as we come across them. Then, suppose we get lost and have to hunt for food. How are we to know what's safe and what isn't? Come now. Do you know the difference between a toadstool and a mushroom? No, I don't. Well, then I'll teach you some day. There's a sweet flag and a poisonous flag, and all sorts of berries and things. You'd better look out when you're in the woods, or you'll touch ivy and dogwood, and have a torrid time if you don't know your botany. Thorny learned much of his by sad experience, and you'd be wise to take his advice, said Miss Celia, recalling her brother's various mishaps before the new fancy came on. Didn't I have a time of it, though, when I had to go round for a week with plantain leaves and cream stuck all over my face? Just picked some pretty red dogwood, Ben, and then I was a regular guy, with a face like a lobster and my eyes swelled out of sight. Come along and learn right away and never get into scrapes like most fellows. Impressed by this warning, and attracted by Thorny's enthusiasm, Ben cast himself down upon the blanket, and for an hour the two heads bobbed to and fro, from microscope to book, the teacher airing his small knowledge, the pupil more and more interested in the new and curious things he saw or heard, though it must be confessed that Ben infinitely preferred to watch ants and bugs, queer little worms, and gauzy winged flies, rather than putter over plants with long names. He did not dare to say so, however, but when Thorny asked him if it wasn't capital fun, he dodged cleverly by proposing to hunt up the flowers for his master to study, offering to learn about the dangerous ones, but pleading want of time to investigate this pleasing science very deeply. As Thorny had talked himself hoarse, he was very ready to dismiss his class of one to fish the milk bottle out of the brook, and recess was prolonged till next day. But both boys found a new pleasure in the pretty past time they made of it, for active Ben ranged the woods and fields with a tin box slung over his shoulder, and Feeble Thorny had a little room fitted up for his own use, where he pressed flowers in newspaper-books, dried herbs on the walls, had bottles and cups, pans and platters for his treasures, and made as much litter as he liked. Presently, Ben brought such lively accounts of the green nooks where jacks in the pulpit preached their little sermons, brooks beside which grew blue violets and lovely ferns, rocks round which danced the columbines like rosy elves, or the trees where birds spilt, squirrels chatterd, and woodchucks burrowed, that Thorny was seized with the desire to go and see these beauties for himself. So Jack was saddled and went plodding, scrambling, and wandering into all manner of pleasant places, always bringing home a stronger browner rider than he carried away. This delighted Miss Celia, and she gladly saw them ramble off together, leaving her time to stitch happily at certain dainty bits of sewing, write voluminous letters, or dream over others quite as long swinging in her hammock under the lilacs. School is done, now we'll have fun. Sung Bab and Betty, slamming down their books as if they never meant to take them up again when they came home the last day of June. Tired teacher had dismissed them for eight whole weeks, and gone away to rest. The little schoolhouse was shut up, lessons were over, spirits rising fast, and vacation had begun. The quiet town seemed suddenly inundated with children, all in such a rampant state that busy mothers wondered how they ever should be able to keep their frisky darlings out of mischief. Thrifty fathers planned how they could bribe the idle hands to pick berries or rake hay, and the old folks, while wishing the young folk well, secretly blessed the man who invented schools. The girls immediately began to talk about picnics, and have them too, for little hats sprung up in the fields like a new sort of mushroom. Every hillside bloomed with gay gowns, looking as if the flowers had gone out for a walk, and the woods were full of featherless birds chirping away as blithely as the thrushes, robins, and wrens. The boys took to baseball like ducks to water, and the common was the scene of tremendous battles, waged with much tumult, but little bloodshed. To the uninitiated it appeared as if these young men had lost their wits, for no matter how warm it was. There they were, tearing about in the maddest manner, jackets off, sleeves rolled up, queer caps flung on anyway, all batting shabby leather balls and catching the same as if their lives depended on it. Every one talking in his gruffest tone, bawling at the top of his voice, squabbling over every point of the game, and seeming to enjoy himself immensely in spite of the heat, dust, uproar, and imminent danger of getting eyes or teeth knocked out. Thorny was an excellent player, but not being strong enough to show his prowess, he made Ben his proxy, and, sitting on the fence, acted as umpire to his heart's content. Ben was a promising pupil, and made rapid progress, for I, foot, and hand had been so well trained that they did him good service now. And Brown was considered a first-rate catcher. Sancho disguised himself by his skill in hunting up stray balls and guarding jackets when not needed, with the air of one of the old guard on duty at the tomb of Napoleon. Bab also longed to join in the fun, which suited her better than stupid picnics or fussing over dolls, but her heroes would not have her at any price, and she was obliged to contend herself with sitting by Thorny and watching with breathless interest the varying fortunes of our side. A grand match was planned for the Fourth of July, but when the club met things were found to be unpropitious. Thorny had gone out of town with his sister to pass the day. Two of the best players did not appear, and the others were somewhat exhausted by the festivities which began at sunrise for them. So they lay about on the grass in the shade of the Big Elm, languidly discussing their various wrongs and disappointments. It's the meanest Fourth I ever saw. Can't have no crackers, because somebody's horse got scared last year, growled Sam Kitteridge, bitterly resenting of the stern edict which forbade free-born citizens to burn as much gunpowder as they lacked on that glorious day. Last year Jimmy got his arm blown off when they fired the old cannon. Didn't we have a lovely time going for the doctors and getting him home? Asked another boy, looking as if he felt defrauded of the most interesting part of the anniversary, because no accident had occurred. Ain't going to be fireworks, either, unless somebody's barn burns up. Don't I just wish there would? Gloomly responded another youth, who had so rashly indulged in pyrotechnics on a former occasion that her neighbor's cow had been roasted whole. I wouldn't give two cents for such a slow old place as this. Why, last fourth at this time, I was rumbling through Boston streets on top of our big car, all in my best togery. Hot as pepper, but good fun looking in at the upper windows and hearing the women scream when the old thing waggled round and I made believe I was going to tumble off, said Ben, leaning on his back with the air of a man who had seen the world and felt some natural regret at descending from so lofty a sphere. Catch me cutting away if I had such a chance as that! answered Sam, trying to balance as bad on his chin and getting a smart wrap across the nose as he failed to perform the feat. Much you know about it, old chap. It's hard work, I can tell you. That wouldn't suit such a lazy bones. Then you are too big to begin, though you might do for a fat boy if Smithers wanted one, said Ben, surveying the stout youth with calm contempt. Let's go in swimming, not loaf around here if we can't play. Proposed a red and shiny boy, panting for a game of leapfrog and sandy pond. May as well. Don't see much else to do, sighed Sam, rising like a young elephant. The others were about to follow. When a shrill, hey, hey, boys, hold on, made them turn around to behold Billy Barton tearing down the street like a runaway cult, waving a long strip of paper as he ran. Now, then, what's the matter? demanded Ben, as the other came up grinning and puffing, but full of great news. Look here! Read it! I'm going! Come along, the whole of you! panted Billy, putting the paper into Sam's hand and surveying the crowd with a face as beaming as a full moon. Look out for the big show, read, Sam. Then Amberg and Coe's new great golden menageries, Circus and Coliseum, will exhibit at Berryville, July 4th, at 1 and 7 precisely, at mission 50 cents children half price. Don't forget day and date, H. Frost manager. While Sam read, the other boys had been gloating about the enticing pictures which covered the bill. There was the golden car, filled with noble beings and helmets, all playing on immense trumpets, the twenty-four prancing steeds with mains, tails, and feathered heads tossing in the breeze, the clowns, the tumblers, the strongmen, and the riders flying about in the air as if the laws of gravitation no longer existed. But, best of all, was the grand conglomeration of animals, where the giraffe appears to stand on the elephant's back, the zebra to be jumping over the seal, the hippopotamus to be lunching off a couple of crocodiles, and lions and tigers to be raining down in all directions with their mouths, wide open, and their tails as stiff as that of the famous Northumberland house lion. Cricky, wouldn't I like to see that? said little Cyrus Faye, devoutly hoping that the cage in which this pleasing spectacle took place was a very strong one. You never would. It's only a picture. That, now, is something like. And Ben, who had pricked up his ears at the word Circus, laid his finger on a smaller cut of a man hanging by the back of his neck with a child in each hand, two men suspended from his feet, and the third swinging forward to a light on his head. I'm going, said Sam, with calm decision, for this superb array of unknown pleasures priored his soul and made him forget his weight. How will you fix it? asked Ben, fingering the bill with a nervous thrill all through his wiry limbs, just as he used to feel it when his father caught him up to dash into the ring. Foot it with Billy. It's only four miles, and we've got lots of time, so we can take it easy. Mother won't care if I send word by Cy, answered Sam, producing half a dollar, as if such magnificent sums were no strangers to his pocket. Come on, Brown, you'll be a first-weight fellow to show us round, as you know all the dodges, said Billy, anxious to get his money's worth. Well, I don't know, began Ben, longing to go, but afraid Mrs. Moss would say no if he asked leave. He's afraid, sneered the red-faced boy, who felt bitterly to water all mankind at that instant, because he knew there was no hope of his going. Say that again, and I'll knock your head off, and Ben faced round with a gesture which caused the other to skip out of reach precipitately. Hasn't got any money more likely, observed a shabby youth, whose pockets never had anything in them but a pair of dirty hands. Ben calmly produced a dollar bill, and waved it defiantly before this doubter, observing with dignity. I've got money enough to treat the whole crowd if I choose to. Which I don't. Then come along and have a jolly time with Sam and me. We can buy some dinner, and get a ride home as like as not, said the amiable Billy, with a slap on the shoulder, and a cordial grin which made it impossible for Ben to resist. What are you stopping for? demanded Sam, ready to be off, that they might take it easy. Don't know what to do with Sancho. He'll get lost or stolen if I take him. And it's too far to carry him home if you're in a hurry. Began Ben, persuading himself that this was the true reason of his delay. Let's sigh take him back. He'll do it for a cent, won't you sigh? proposed Billy, smoothing away all objections, for he liked Ben, and saw that he wanted to go. No, I won't. I don't like him. He winks at me and growls when I touch him. Mother naughty sigh, remembering how much reason poor Sanch had to distrust his tormentor. There's Bap. She'll do it. Come here, Sissy. Ben wants you, called Sam, beckoning to a small figure just perching on the fence. Down it jumped, and came fluttering up, much elated at being summoned by the captain of the sacred nine. I want you to take Sanch home, and tell your mother I'm going to walk, and maybe won't be back till sundown. Miss Celia said I might do what I pleased all day. You remember now? Ben spoke without looking up, and effected to be very busy buckling a strap into Sanch's collar, for the two were so seldom parted that the dog always rebelled. It was a mistake on Ben's part, for while his eyes were on his work. Babs were devouring the bill which Sam still held, and her suspicions were aroused by the boy's faces. Where are you going? Mal will want to know, she said, as curious as a magpie all at once. Never you mind. Girls can't know everything. You just catch hold of this, and run along home. Lock Sanch up for an hour, and tell your mother I'm all right, answered Ben. Bound to assert his manly supremacy before his mates. He's going to the circus, whispered Faye, hoping to make mischief. Circus! Oh, Ben, do take me! cried Bab, falling into a state of great excitement at the mere thought of such delight. You couldn't walk four miles, began Ben. Yes I could, as easy as not. You haven't got any money. You have. I saw you showing your dollar, and you could pay for me, and Mal would pay it back. Can't wait for you to get ready. I'll go as I am. I don't care if it is my old hat, and Bab jerked it onto her head. Your mother wouldn't like it. She won't like your going, either. She isn't my Mrs. now. Miss Celia wouldn't care, and I'm going, anyway. Do, do take me, Ben. I'll be just as good as ever was, and I'll take care of Sanch all the way. Hey! pleaded Bab, clasping your hands and looking for some sign of relenting in the faces of the boys. Don't you bother. We don't want any girls tagging after us, said Sam, walking off to escape the annoyance. I'll bring you a roll of Chickaberry lozenges, if you won't tease. Whispered kind-hearted Billy, with a consoling pat on the crown of this shabby straw hat. When the circus comes here, you shall go. Certain sure. And Betty, too, said Ben, feeling mean while he proposed what he knew was a hollow mockery. They never do come to such little towns. You said so, and I think you are very cross, and I won't take care of Sanch so now, cried Bab, getting into a passion yet ready to cry. She was so disappointed. I suppose it wouldn't do, hinted Billy, with a look from Ben to the little girl, who stood winking hard to keep the tears back. Of course it wouldn't. I'd like to see her walking eight miles. I don't mind paying for her. It's getting her there and back. Girls are such a bother when you want to knock around. No, Bab, you can't go. Travel right home and don't make a fuss. Come along, boys. It's most eleven, and we don't want to walk fast. Ben spoke very decidedly, and, taking Billy's arm, away they went, leaving poor Bab and Sanch to watch them out of sight, one sobbing, the other whining dismally. Somehow those two figures seemed to go before Ben all along the pleasant road, and half spoiled his fun. For though he laughed and talked, cut canes, and seemed as merry as a grig, he could not help feeling that he ought to have asked Lee to go and be kinder to Bab. Perhaps Mrs. Moss would have planned somehow so we could all go if I'd told her. I'd like to show her round, and she's been real good to me. No use now. I'll take the girls a lot of candy and make it all right. He tried to settle it in that way, and trudged gaily off, hoping Sancho wouldn't feel hurt at being left, wondering if any of the smithers lot would be around, and planning to do the honors, handsomely to the boys. It was very warm, and just outside of the town they paused by a wayside watering trough to wash their dusty faces, and cool off before plunging into the excitement of the afternoon. As they stood refreshing themselves, a baker's cart came jingling by, and Sam proposed a hasty lunch while they rested. A supply of gingerbread was soon bought, and, climbing the green bank above, they lay on the grass under a wild cherry munching luxuriously, while they feasted their eyes at the same time on the splendors awaiting them, for the great tent, with all its flags flying, was visible from the hill. We'll cut across those fields. It's shorter than going by the road, and then we can look around outside till it's time to go in. I want to have a good go at everything, especially the lions, said Sam, beginning on his last cookie. I heard him roar just now, and Billy stood up to gaze with big eyes at the flapping canvas which hid the king of beasts from his longing sight. That was a cow mooing. Don't you be a donkey-bill. When you hear a real roar, you'll shake in your boots, said Ben, holding up his handkerchief to dry, after it had done double duty as Tal and Napkin. I wish you'd hurry up, Sam. Folks are going in now. I see them. And Billy pranced with impatience, for this was his first circus, and he firmly believed that he was going to behold all that the pictures promised. Hold on a minute while I get one more drink. Buns are dry fodder, said Sam, rolling over to the edge of the bank and preparing to descend with as little trouble as possible. He nearly went down head first, however, for as he looked before he leapt, he beheld a sight which caused him to stare with all his might for an instant. Then turn him back in, saying in an eager whisper, Look here, boys, quick! Ben and Billy peered over, and both suppressed an astonished hello, for there stood Bab, waiting for Sancho to lap his fill out of the overflowing trough. Such a shabby, tired-looking couple as they were. Bab with a face as red as a lobster and streaked with tears. Shoes white with dust, play frock torn in the gathers, something bundled up in her apron and one shoe down at the heel as if it hurt her. Sancho leapt eagerly, with his eyes shut. All his ruffles were grey with dust, and his tail hung wearily down, the tassel at half-mast, as if in mourning for the master whom he had come to find. Bab still held the strap, intent on keeping her charge safe, though she lost herself. But her courage seemed to be giving out, as she looked anxiously up and down the road, seeing no sign of the three familiar figures she had been following as steadily as a little Indian on the war-trail. Oh, Sancho, what shall I do if they don't come along? We must have gone by them somewhere, for I don't see anyone that way, and there isn't any other road to the circus seems to me. Bab spoke as if the dog could understand an answer, and Sancho looked as if he did both, for he stopped drinking, pricked up his ears, and, fixing his sharp eyes on the grass above him, gave a suspicious bark. It's only squirrels, don't mind, but come along and be good, for I'm so tired, I don't know what to do, side-bab, trying to pull him after her as she trudged on, bound to see the outside of that wonderful tent, even if she never got in. But Sancho had heard a soft drip, and, with a sudden bound, twitched the strap away, sprang up the bank, and landed directly on Ben's back as he lay peeping over. A peel of laughter greeted him, and, having got the better of his master in more ways than one, he made the most of the advantage by playfully warring him as he kept him down, licking his face in spite of his struggles, burrowing in his neck with a ticklish nose, snapping at his buttons, and yelping joyfully, as if it was the best joke in the world to play hide and seek for four long miles. Before Ben could quiet them, Bab came climbing up the bank, with such a funny mixture of fear, fatigue, determination, and relief in her dirty little face that the boys could not look awful if they tried. How dared you come after us, Miss! demanded Sam, as she looked calmly about her, and took a seat before she was asked. Sanch would come after Ben. I couldn't make him go home, so I had to hold on till he was safe here, else he'd be lost, and then Ben would feel bad. The cleverness of that excuse tickled the boys immensely, and Sam tried again, while Ben was getting the dog down and sitting on him. Now you expect to go to the circus, I suppose. Course I do. Ben said he didn't mind paying if I could get there without bothering him, and I have, and I'll go home alone. I ain't afraid. Sanch will take care of me if you won't, answered Bab stoutly. What do you suppose your mother will say to you, asked Ben, feeling much reproached by her last words? I guess she'll say you led me into mischief, and the sharp child nodded, as if she defied him to deny the truth of that. You'll catch it when you get home, Ben, so you'd better have a good time while you can, advised Sam, thinking Bab great fun, since none of the blame of her pranks would fall on him. What would you have done if you hadn't found us? asked Billy, forgetting his impatience and his admiration for this plucky young lady. I'd have gone on and seen the circus. Then I'd have gone home again and told Betty all about it, was the prompt answer. But you haven't got any money. Oh, I'd ask somebody to pay for me. I'm so little it wouldn't be much. Nobody would do it, so you'd have to stay outside, you see. No, I wouldn't. I thought of that, and planned how I'd fix it if I didn't find Ben. I'd make Sam's do his tricks, and get a quarter that way. So now, answered Bab, undaunted by any obstacle. I do believe she would. You are a smart child, Bab, and if I had enough I'd take you in myself, said Billy heartily, for, having sisters of his own, he kept a soft place in his heart for girls, especially enterprising ones. I'll take care of her. It was very naughty to come, Bab, but so long as you did, you needn't worry about anything. I'll see to you, and you shall have a real good time, said Ben, accepting his responsibilities without a murmur, and bound to do the handsome thing by his persistent friend. I thought you would, and Bab folded her arms, as if she had nothing further to do, but enjoy herself. Are you hungry? asked Billy, fishing out several fragments of gingerbread. Starving! and Bab ate them with such a relish that Sam added a small contribution, and then caught some water for her in his hand, with a little spring bubbled up beside a stone. Now you wash your face, and spat down your hair, and put your head on straight, and then we'll go, commanded Ben, giving Sam to roll in the grass to clean him. Bab scrubbed her face till it shone, and, pulling down her apron to wipe it, scattered a load of treasures collected in her walk. Some of the dead flowers, bits of moss, and green twigs fell near Ben, and one attracted his attention, a spray of broad, smooth leaves with a bunch of whitish berries on it. Where did you get that? he asked, poking it with his foot. In a swampy place, coming along, Sam saw something down there, and I went with him, because I thought maybe it was a muskrat, and you'd like one if we could get him. Was it? asked all the boys at once, and with intense interest. No, only a snake, and I don't care for snakes. I picked some of that, it was so green and pretty. Thornier likes queer leaves and berries, you know, answered Bab, spitting down her rough flocks. Well, he won't like that, nor you either. It's poisonous, and I shouldn't wonder if you'd got poison, Bab. Don't touch it. Swamps a match is horrid stuff, Missilia said so. And Ben looked anxiously at Bab, who felt her chubby face all over, and examined her dinny hands with a solemn air, asking eagerly, will it break out on me before I get to the circus? Not for a day or so, I guess, but it's bad when it does come. I don't care if I see the animals first. Come quick, and never mind the old wades and things, said Bab, much relieved, for present bliss was all she had room for now in her happy little heart. End of Chapter 13