His temperament had always been a sympathetic one.  He had many times received harsh treatment that would never have come to him, by seeking to protect some persecuted cat or dog.

Thus far the recipient of his kindly ministrations had always been some dumb animal.  Now that the opportunity had offered to extend these to a human being, Miles was loath to put it aside.

“What a nice fellow he is!” he murmured.  “I wonder where he belongs!”

Just then Florence came to the door.  The thought instantly flashed into Miles’s brain that she had been sent there to see that he did not steal anything.

But he was accustomed to being the object of such suspicions.  And yet, somehow, the idea that he should be, hurt him more than usual on the present occasion.

“My mother would like to see you down stairs,” said Florence.  “I will stay here with him.”

Miles went down and found Mrs. Raynor at the foot of the stairway.

“It has just occurred to me,” she said, “that you may think it best to send to the home of this young man.  Who is he?”

A troubled look came over Miles’s face.  He feared that what he was about to say would settle the matter once for all about his being allowed to stay with the fellow up stairs.  But he had to tell the truth.

“I don’t know his name,” he answered.  “I fell in with him on the road.  But I’d so much like to do something for him.  You are sure there is nothing I can do?”

“You have already done a great deal for him,” returned Mrs. Raynor, “if, as I understand, you carried him in here out of the rain.  And you haven’t any idea where he belongs?”

“No, I saw him lying on the grass as I was walking along the road.  I was going to Trenton to try and get a job in the potteries there.  But I’d like to find out how he gets along.”

“You shall.  Sit down on the porch here while I take your coat in and hang it by the stove to dry.  I’ll send Tim for the doctor at once.”

When Mrs. Raynor returned up stairs a little later, Florence met her at the door of her brother’s room, where Rex had been carried, Bert being away at boarding school.

“He’s very sick, don’t you think, mama?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so, my dear.  I want to do all I can for him.  I can’t help thinking how grateful I should be to have any one do as much for our Bert.”

“And see what nice clothes he wears,” went on Florence in the same whispering tone.  “How do you suppose he ever got into association with that fellow down stairs?”

“Hush, dear, “cautioned her mother.  “Behind those poor clothes is a very warm heart.”

“But is he going to stay, too?” went on Florence.

“He wants to.  Perhaps we can find something for him to do about the garden.”

“Do you think he’s honest, though?”

“We must run our chances on that.  He is certainly very different from most fellows of his appearance.”