As the boy came forward in a shy, hesitating way, an expression of amazement and wonder crept into the stranger’s face; he left his seat and started forward.  “Howard,” he said; “Howard.”

“That ain’t his name, Mister; his name’s Pete,” returned the youth, in low, soft tones.

In the voice and manner of the lad, no less than in his face and eyes, Mr. Howitt read his story.  Unconsciously he echoed the words of Mr. Matthews, “Poor Pete.”

The dog lifted his head and looked into the man’s face, while his tail wagged a joyful greeting, and, as the man stooped to pat the animal and speak a few kind words, a beautiful smile broke over the delicate features of the youth.  Throwing himself upon the ground, he cried, “Come here, Brave”; and taking the dog’s face between his hands, said in confidential tones, ignoring Mr. Howitt’s presence, “He’s a good man, ain’t he, brother?” The dog answered with wagging tail.  “We sure like him, don’t we?” The dog gave a low bark.  “Listen, Brave, listen.”  He lifted his face to the tree tops, then turned his ear to the ground, while the dog, too, seemed to hearken.  Again that strange smile illuminated his face; “Yes, yes, Brave, we sure like him.  And the tree things like him, too, brother; and the flowers, the little flower things that know everything; they’re all a singin’ to Pete ’cause he’s come.  Did you see the flower things in his eyes, and hear the tree things a talkin’ in his voice, Brave?  And see, brother, the sheep like him too!” Pointing toward the stranger, he laughed aloud.  The old ewe had come quite close to the man, and one of the lambs was nibbling at his trousers’ leg.

Mr. Howitt seated himself on the stile again, and the dog, released by the youth, came to lie down at his feet; while the boy seemed to forget his companions, and appeared to be listening to voices unheard by them, now and then nodding his head and moving his lips in answer.

The old man looked long and thoughtfully at the youth, his own face revealing a troubled mind.  This then was Pete, Poor Pete.  “Howard,” whispered the man; “the perfect image;” then again he said, half aloud, “Howard.”

The boy turned his face and smiled; “That ain’t his name, Mister; his name’s Pete.  Pete seen you yesterday over on Dewey, and Pete he heard the big hills and the woods a singin’ when you talked.  But Jed he didn’t hear.  Jed he don’t hear nothin’ but himself; he can’t.  But Pete he heard and all Pete’s people, too.  And the gray mist things come out and danced along the mountain, ’cause they was so glad you come.  And Pete went with you along the Old Trail.  Course, though, you didn’t know.  Do you like Pete’s people, Mister?” He waved his hands to include the forest, the mountains and the sky; and there was a note of anxiety in the sweet voice as he asked again:  “Do you like Pete’s friends?”

“Yes, indeed, I like your friends,” replied Mr. Howitt, heartily; “and I would like to be your friend too, if you will let me.  What is your other name?”