The fault with Dab Kinzer’s old suit, after all, had lain mainly in its size rather than its materials; for Mrs. Kinzer was too good a manager to be really stingy.

Dick succeeded in reaching the boat-landing without falling in with any one who seemed disposed to laugh at him; but there, right on the wharf, was a white boy of about his own age, and he felt a good deal like backing out.

“Nebber seen him afore, either,” said Dick to himself.  “Den I guess I ain’t afeard ob him.”

The stranger was a somewhat short and thick-set, but bright and active-looking boy, with a pair of very keen, greenish-gray eyes.  But, after all, the first word he spoke to poor Dick was,—­

“Hullo, clothes!  Where are you going with all that boy?”

“I knowed it, I knowed it!” groaned Dick.  But he answered as sharply as he knew how,—­

“I’s goin’ a-fishin’.  Any ob youah business?”—­

“Where’d you learn how to fish?” the stranger asked, “Down South?  Didn’t know they had any there.”

“Nebbah was down Souf,” was the somewhat surly reply.

“Father run away, did he?”

“He nebber was down dar, nudder.”

“Nor his father?”

“’Tain’t no business ob yourn,” said Dick, “but we’s allers lived right heah, on dis bay.”

“Guess not,” said the white boy knowingly.  Dick was right, nevertheless; for his people had been slaves among the very earliest Dutch settlers, and had never “lived South” at all.  He was now busily getting one of the boats ready to shove off; but his white tormentor went at him again, with,—­

“Well, then, if you’ve lived round here as long as that, you must know everybody.”

“Reckon I do.”

“Are there any nice fellows around here?  Any like me?”

“De nicest young gen’lman round dis bay,” replied Dick, “is Mr. Dab Kinzer.  But he ain’t like you.  Not nuff to hurt him.”

“Dab Kinzer,” exclaimed the stranger.  “Where’d he get his name?”

“In de bay, I ’spect,” said Dick, as he shoved his boat off; “caught ’im wid a hook.”

“Anyhow,” said the strange boy to himself, “that’s probably the kind of fellow my father would wish me to associate with.  Only it’s likely he’s very ignorant.”

And he walked away towards the village, with the air of a man who had forgotten more than the rest of his race were ever likely to find out.

At all events, Dick Lee had managed to say a good word for his benefactor, little as he could guess what might be the consequences.

Meantime Dab Kinzer, when he went out from breakfast, had strolled away to the north fence, for a good look at the house which was thenceforth to be the home of his favorite sister.  He had seen it before, every day since he could remember; but it seemed to have a fresh and almost mournful interest for him just now.

“Hullo!” he exclaimed, as he leaned against the fence.  “Putting up ladders?  Oh, yes, I see!  That’s old Tommy McGrew, the house-painter.  Well, Ham’s house needs a new coat as badly as I did.  Sure it’ll fit too.  Only it ain’t used to it, any more’n I am.”