“What do you say?”

“I guess no one don’t want me.”

“Perhaps not; but if somebody would have you, would you be a good girl?”

“I s’pose I’d get dinner reglar,” said the little black girl, still fingering the edge of her basket.

“Certainly! —­and something better than figs.”

“Be them figs?” said Clam, suddenly looking up at him.

“Yes —­ the sweet ones.”

“Goody! —­ I didn’t know that before.”

“Well —­ you haven’t answered me yet.”

“I don’t care much,” —­ said Clam.  “Is it your house?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll come!” said she clapping her hands.  “I’ll clear out, and mother won’t never give it to me no more. —­ Nor nobody else sha’n’t?” said she looking up at Winthrop.

“If you behave yourself.”

“I’ll go now right off!” said Clam, jumping up in great spirits.  Then with a changing and doubtful tone she added, looking to Winthrop, “Will you take me?”

“Yes,” he said smiling, “but not this evening.  You must go home now, when the storm is over, for to-night; and I’ll come and see your mother about it.”

“What for?” was the very earnest and prompt answer.

“If you agree to come, I must get her to bind you out.”

“I aint goin’ to be bound,” said Clam shaking her head; —­ “if you bind me, I’ll run.”

“Run as fast as you please,” said Winthrop; —­ “run whenever you want to; —­ but I can’t take you unless you be bound, for I won’t have your mother coming after you.”

“Can’t she do nothin’ to me if I’m bound?” said Clam.

“Nothing at all, till you grow up to be a woman; and then you can take care of yourself.”

“I’ll take care of myself all along,” said Clam.  “Nobody else aint a goin’ to.”

“But somebody must give you clothes to wear, and a bed to sleep in, and your dinner, you know; and you must do work for somebody, to pay for it.”

“To pay for my dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Very good!” said Clam.  “I guess I’ll stand it.  Will it be for you?”

“No, I think not.”

“Won’t you?” said Clam wishingly.  “I’ll do work for you.”

“Thank you.  Maybe you shall.”

“I’m goin’ home now,” said Clam, getting up and shouldering her basket.

“The storm’s too bad yet,” said Winthrop.

“Crackey! what do you think I care for that!  The rain won’t wet me much.”

“Come to my house to-morrow, if you want to see me again,” said Winthrop, —­ “about dinner-time.”

Clam nodded, and fixing her bright eyes very intently first on one and then on the other of the friends she was leaving, she ended with a long parting look at Winthrop which lasted till she had passed from sight out of the door of the shed.

The violence of the storm was gone over; but though the thunder sounded now in the distance and the lightning played fainter, the rain fell yet all around them, in a gentle and very full shower.