CHAPTER III.

BEN.

“Please ’m, my name is Ben Brown, and I’m traveling.”

“Where are you going?”

“Anywheres to get work.”

“What sort of work can you do?”

“All kinds.  I’m used to horses.”

“Bless me! such a little chap as you?”

“I’m twelve, ma’am, and can ride anything on four legs;” and the small boy gave a nod that seemed to say, “Bring on your Cruisers.  I’m ready for ’em.”

“Haven’t you got any folks?” asked Mrs. Moss, amused but still anxious, for the sunburnt face was very thin, the eyes big with hunger or pain, and the ragged figure leaned on the wheel as if too weak or weary to stand alone.

“No,’m, not of my own; and the people I was left with beat me so, I—­run away.”  The last words seemed to bolt out against his will, as if the woman’s sympathy irresistibly won the child’s confidence.

“Then I don’t blame you.  But how did you get here?”

“I was so tired I couldn’t go any further, and I thought the folks up here at the big house would take me in.  But the gate was locked, and I was so discouraged, I jest lay down outside and give up.”

“Poor little soul, I don’t wonder,” said Mrs. Moss, while the children looked deeply interested at mention of their gate.

The boy drew a long breath, and his eyes began to twinkle in spite of his forlorn state as he went on, while the dog pricked up his ears at mention of his name: 

“While I was restin’ I heard some one come along inside, and I peeked, and saw them little girls playin’.  The vittles looked so nice I couldn’t help wantin’ ’em; but I didn’t take nothin’,—­it was Sancho, and he took the cake for me.”

Bab and Betty gave a gasp and stared reproachfully at the poodle, who half closed his eyes with a meek, unconscious look that was very droll.

“And you made him put it back?” cried Bab.

“No; I did it myself.  Got over the gate when you was racin’ after Sanch, and then clim’ up on the porch and hid,” said the boy, with a grin.

“And you laughed?” asked Bab.

“Yes.”

“And sneezed?” added Betty.

“Yes.”

“And threw down the roses?” cried both.

“Yes; and you liked ’em, didn’t you?”

“Course we did!  What made you hide?” said Bab.

“I wasn’t fit to be seen,” muttered Ben, glancing at his tatters as if he’d like to dive out of sight into the dark coach again.

“How came you here?” demanded Mrs. Moss, suddenly remembering her responsibility.

“I heard them talk about a little winder and a shed, and when they’d gone I found it and come in.  The glass was broke, and I only pulled the nail out.  I haven’t done a mite of harm sleepin’ here two nights.  I was so tuckered out I couldn’t go on nohow, though I tried a Sunday.”