“And came back again?”

“Yes, ’m; it was so lonesome in the rain, and this place seemed kinder like home, and I could hear ’em talkin’ outside, and Sanch he found vittles, and I was pretty comfortable.”

“Well, I never!” ejaculated Mrs. Moss, whisking up a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes, for the thought of the poor little fellow alone there for two days and nights with no bed but musty straw, no food but the scraps a dog brought him, was too much for her.  “Do you know what I’m going to do with you?” she asked, trying to look calm and cool, with a great tear running down her wholesome, red cheek, and a smile trying to break out at the corners of her lips.

“No, ma’am; and I dunno as I care.  Only don’t be hard on Sanch; he’s been real good to me, and we’re fond of one another; aint us, old chap?” answered the boy, with his arm around the dog’s neck, and an anxious look which he had not worn for himself.

[Illustration:  GETTING BEN’S SUPPER. (SEE NEXT PAGE.)]

“I’m going to take you right home, and wash and feed and put you in a good bed, and to-morrow—­well, we’ll see what’ll happen then,” said Mrs. Moss, not quite sure about it herself.

“You’re very kind, ma’am.  I’ll be glad to work for you.  Aint you got a horse I can see to?” asked the boy, eagerly.

“Nothing but hens and a cat.”

Bab and Betty burst out laughing when their mother said that, and Ben gave a faint giggle, as if he would like to join in if he only had the strength to do it.  But his legs shook under him, and he felt a queer dizziness; so he could only hold on to Sancho, and blink at the light like a young owl.

“Come right along, child.  Run on, girls, and put the rest of the broth to warming, and fill the kettle.  I’ll see to the boy,” commanded Mrs. Moss, waving off the children, and going up to feel the pulse of her new charge, for it suddenly occurred to her that he might be sick and not safe to take home.

The hand he gave her was very thin, but clean and cool, and the black eyes were clear though hollow, for the poor lad was half starved.

“I’m awful shabby, but I aint dirty.  I had a washin’ in the rain last night, and I’ve jest about lived on water lately,” he explained, wondering why she looked at him so hard.

“Put out your tongue.”

He did so, but took it in again to say quickly: 

“I aint sick—­I’m only hungry; for I haven’t had a mite but what Sanch brought for three days, and I always go halves; don’t I, Sanch?”

The poodle gave a shrill bark, and vibrated excitedly between the door and his master as if he understood all that was going on, and recommended a speedy march toward the promised food and shelter.  Mrs. Moss took the hint, and bade the boy follow her at once and bring his “things” with him.

“I aint got any.  Some big fellers took away my bundle, else I wouldn’t look so bad.  There’s only this.  I’m sorry Sanch took it, and I’d like to give it back if I knew whose it was,” said Ben, bringing the new dinner pail out from the depths of the coach where he had gone to housekeeping.