Moss, talking all at once like little lunatics.

“The phaeton at four — so sweet in a beautiful white gown — going to tea, and Sancho and all the baby things invited. Can’t we wear our Sunday frocks? A splendid new net for Lita. And she likes dolls. Goody, goody, won’t it be fun!”

With much difficulty their mother got a clear account of the approaching festivity out of the eager mouths, and with still more difficulty got breakfast into them, for the children had few pleasures, and this brilliant prospect rather turned their heads.

Bab and Betty thought the day would never end, and cheered the long hours by expatiating on the pleasures in store for them, till their playmates were much afflicted because they were not going also. At noon their mother kept them from running over to the old house lest they should be in the way; so they consoled themselves by going to the syringa bush at the corner and sniffing the savory odors which came from the kitchen, where Katy, the cook, was evidently making nice things for tea.

Ben worked as if for a wager till four; then stood over Pat while he curried Lita till her coat shone like satin, then drove her gently down to the coach house, where he had the satisfaction of harnessing her “all his own self.”

“Shall I go round to the great gate and wait for you there, miss?” he asked, when all was ready, looking up at the porch, where the young lady stood watching him as she put on her gloves.

“No, Ben, the great gate is not to be opened till next October. I shall go in and out by the Lodge, and leave the avenue to grass and dandelions, meantime,” answered Miss Celia, as she stepped in and took the reins, with a sudden smile.

But she did not start, even when Ben had shaken out the new duster and laid it neatly over her knees.

“Isn’t it all right now?” asked the boy, anxiously.

“Not quite; I need one thing more. Can’t you guess what it is?”— and Miss Celia watched his anxious face as his eyes wandered from the tips of Lita’s ears to the hind wheel of the phaeton, trying to discover what had been omitted.

“No, miss, I don’t see—” he began, much mortified to think he had forgotten anything.

“Wouldn’t a little groom up behind improve the appearance of my turnout?” she said, with a look which left no doubt in his mind that he was to be the happy boy to occupy that proud perch.

He grew red with pleasure, but stammered, as he hesitated, looking down at his bare feet and blue shirt—

“I ain’t fit, miss; and I haven’t got any other clothes.”

Miss Celia only smiled again more kindly than before, and answered, in a tone which he understood better than her words—

“A great man said his coat of arms was a pair of shirt-sleeves, and a sweet poet sung about a barefooted boy; so I need not be too proud to ride with one. Up with you, Ben, my man, and let us be off, or we shall be late for our party.”

With one bound the new groom was in his place, sitting very erect, with his legs stiff, arms folded, and nose in the air, as he had seen real grooms sit behind their masters in fine dogcarts or carriages. Mrs. Moss nodded as they drove past the lodge, and Ben touched his torn hat-brim in the most dignified manner, though he could not suppress a broad grin of delight, which deepened into a chuckle when Lita went off at a brisk trot along the smooth road toward town.

It takes so little to make a child happy, it is a pity grown people do not oftener remember it and scatter little bits of pleasure before the small people, as they throw crumbs to the hungry sparrows. Miss Celia knew the boy was pleased, but he had no words in which to express his gratitude for the great contentment she had given him. He could only beam at all he met, smile when the floating ends of the gray veil blew against his face, and long in his heart to give the new friend a boyish hug, as he used to do his dear ‘Melia when she was very good to him.

School was just out as they passed; and it was a spectacle, I assure you, to see the boys and girls stare at Ben up aloft in such state; also to see the superb indifference with which that young man regarded the vulgar herd who went afoot. He could not resist an affable nod to Bab and Betty, for they stood under the maple tree, and the memory of their circulating library made him forget his dignity in his gratitude.

“We will take them next time, but now I want to talk to you,” began Miss Celia, as Lita climbed the hill. “My brother has been ill, and I have brought him here to get well. I want to do all sorts of things to amuse him, and I think you can help me in many ways. Would you like to work for me instead of the Squire?”

“I guess I would!” ejaculated Ben, so heartily that no further assurances were needed, and Miss Celia went on, well pleased—

“You see, poor Thorny is weak and fretful, and does not like to exert himself, though he ought to be out a great deal, and kept from thinking of his little troubles. He cannot walk much yet, so I have a wheeled chair to push him in; and the paths are so hard, it will be easy to roll him about. That will be one thing you can do. Another is to take care of his pets till he is able to do it himself. Then you can tell him your adventures, and talk to him as only a boy can talk to a boy. That will amuse him when I want to write or go out; but I never leave him long, and hope he will soon be running about as well as the rest of us. How does that sort of work look to you?”

“First-rate! I’ll take real good care of the little feller, and do everything I know to please him, and so will Sanch; he’s fond of children,” answered Ben, heartily, for the new place looked very inviting to him.

Miss Celia laughed, and rather damped his ardor by her next words.

“I don’t know what Thorny would say to hear you call him ‘little.’ He is fourteen, and appears to get taller and taller every day. He seems like a child to me, because I am nearly ten years older than he is; but you needn’t be afraid of his long legs and big eyes — he is too feeble to do any harm; only you mustn’t mind if he orders you about.”

“I’m used to that. I don’t mind it if he won’t call me a ‘spalpeen,’ and fire things at me,” said Ben, thinking of his late trials with Pat.

“I can promise that; and I am sure Thorny will like you, for I told him your story, and he is anxious to see ‘the circus boy,’ as he called you. Squire Allen says I may trust you, and I am glad to do so, for it saves me much trouble to find what I want all ready for me. You shall be well fed and clothed, kindly treated and honestly paid, if you like to stay with me.”

“I know I shall like it — till father comes, anyway. Squire wrote to Smithers right off, but hasn’t got any answer yet. I know they are on the go now, so maybe we won’t hear for ever so long,” answered Ben, feeling less impatient to be off than before this fine proposal was made to him.

“I daresay; meantime, we will see how we get on together, and perhaps your father will be willing to leave you for the summer if he is away. Now show me the baker’s, the candy shop, and the post office,” said Miss Celia, as they rattled down the main street of the village.

Ben made himself useful; and when all the other errands were done, received his reward in the shape of a new pair of shoes and a straw hat with a streaming blue ribbon, on the ends of which shone silvery anchors. He was also allowed to drive home, while his new mistress read her letters.