“Bud who?” asked the woman’s voice.

The Perkins boy heard the dialogue.  He was sitting down, throwing clods into the air, and catching them as they fell, and this appeared to be an engrossing task.

“Bud Perkins.  He’s settin’ down by his pa’s grave,” replied the boy on the hill.  The child by the fresh mound pictured himself as the other boy saw him, and his eyes brimmed over with tears.  He seemed so desolate.

“Why don’t you go to him?” insisted the woman, coming nearer.

“Oh, Miss Morgan,” said the boy whom she addressed, lowering his voice, but not lowering it sufficiently, “Miss Morgan, you don’t know him”

Just then Bud was startled by a footstep at his side.  He looked up and saw Piggy Pennington, who had a big bunch of roses in his hands, and who, seeing the stained face of his friend, said in embarrassed confusion:  “Ma sent ’em.”  Piggy put the roses by the new pine head-board, and lay down—­lying across his companion’s feet.

“Get off me,” said Bud, when he had treated himself to a long, trembling sniff, after a painful silence.  “I ain’t no sidewalk.”

When Piggy went to get his flying hat, he said under his breath to Bud, “Wipe your face, quick; some one’s comin’.”  Then he stood awkwardly at Bud’s back and shielded him.  Piggy spoke first to the little woman, now only a few paces away.

[Illustration:  Piggy went to get his flying hat.]

“H’lo, Miss Morgan; lookin’ for old Tom?  He’s buried off to the right yonder.”

“No, my dear.  I want to speak to Henry Perkins,” replied the woman, beaming the kindest of smiles into the guardsman’s face.  He stepped from the line between Miss Morgan and the Perkins boy, not sure that the intruder would find a welcome.  Bud was glaring steadfastly at the earth, between his hands and knees.  Piggy said, “Bu-ud?”

“Whut,” was the response.

“Miss Morgan wants to talk with you,” replied Piggy.

“What’s she want?” inquired the Perkins boy, with his head still between his knees.

Miss Morgan had been coming nearer and nearer to him as the dialogue had progressed.  She was standing in front of Bud when he added, “I ain’t done nothin’.”

Miss Morgan bent down and touched his head with her hands.  Piggy was shaking his head warningly at her with much earnestness.  He feared that such a feminine proceeding would anger his comrade.  When Miss Morgan sat upon the ground beside Bud and took one of his hands, stroking it without the boy’s resisting, Piggy Pennington was dumb with wonder.  He could not hear the gentle breaking of the agonizing lump in the child’s throat.  Even little Miss Morgan could not see the tears that had burst over the brims of the orphan’s eyes.  His face was averted.  She stroked his hand, and snuggled closer to him.  Then she heard a faint whimper, and her heart could stand the strain no longer; she