Tiny drops glittered on every thread as the light shone through the gossamer curtain, and a soft breath of air made it tremble as if about to blow it away.

“It’s mighty pretty, but it will fly off, just as the others did. I never saw such a chap as that spider is. He keeps on spinning a new one every day, for they always get broke, and he don’t seem to be discouraged a mite,” said Ben, glad to change the subject, as she knew he would be.

“That is the way he gets his living. He spins his web and waits for his daily bread — or fly, rather; and it always comes, I fancy. By and by you will see that pretty trap full of insects, and Mr. Spider will lay up his provisions for the day. After that he doesn’t care how soon his fine web blows away.”

“I know him; he’s a handsome feller, all black and yellow, and lives up in that corner where the shiny sort of hole is. He dives down the minute I touch the gate, but comes up after I’ve kept still a minute. I like to watch him. But he must hate me, for I took away a nice green fly and some little millers one day.”

“Did you ever hear the story of Bruce and his spider? Most children know and like that,” said Miss Celia, seeing that he seemed interested.

“No, ‘m; I don’t know ever so many things most children do,” answered Ben, soberly; for, since he had been among his new friends, he had often felt his own deficiencies.

“Ah, but you also know many things which they do not. Half the boys in town would give a great deal to be able to ride and run and leap as you do; and even the oldest are not as capable of taking care of themselves as you are. Your active life has done much in some ways to make a man of you; but in other ways it was bad, as I think you begin to see. Now, suppose you try to forget the harmful part, and remember only the good, while learning to be more like our boys, who go to school and church, and fit themselves to become industrious, honest men.”

Ben had been looking straight up in Miss Celia’s face as she spoke, feeling that every word was true, though he could not have expressed it if he had tried; and, when she paused, with her bright eyes inquiringly fixed on his, he answered heartily—

“I’d like to stay here and be respectable; for, since I came, I’ve found out that folks don’t think much of circus riders, though they like to go and see ’em. I didn’t use to care about school and such things, but I do now; and I guess he’d like it better than to have me knockin’ round that way without him to look after me.”

“I know he would; so we will try, Benny. I daresay it will seem dull and hard at first, after the gay sort of life you have led, and you will miss the excitement. But it was not good for you, and we will do our best to find something safer. Don’t be discouraged; and, when things trouble you, come to me as Thorny does, and I’ll try to straighten them out for you. I’ve got two boys now, and I want to do my duty by both.”

Before Ben had time for more than a grateful look, a tumbled head appeared at an upper window, and a sleepy voice drawled out—

“Celia! I can’t find a bit of a shoestring, and I wish you’d come and do my necktie.”

“Lazy boy, come down here, and bring one of your black ties with you. Shoestrings are in the little brown bag on my bureau,” called back Miss Celia; adding, with a laugh, as the tumbled head disappeared mumbling something about “bothering old bags”—

“Thorny has been half spoiled since he was ill. You mustn’t mind his fidgets and dawdling ways. He’ll get over them soon, and then I know you two will be good friends.”

Ben had his doubts about that, but resolved to do his best for her sake; so, when Master Thorny presently appeared, with a careless “How are you, Ben?” that young person answered respectfully—

“Very well, thank you,” though his nod was as condescending as his new master’s; because he felt that a boy who could ride bareback and turn a double somersault in the air ought not to “knuckle under” to a fellow who had not the strength of a pussycat.

“Sailor’s knot, please; keeps better so,” said Thorny, holding up his chin to have a blue silk scarf tied to suit him, for he was already beginning to be something of a dandy.

“You ought to wear red till you get more color, dear”; and his sister rubbed her blooming cheek against his pale one, as if to lend him some of her own roses.

“Men don’t care how they look,” said Thorny, squirming out of her hold, for he hated to be “cuddled” before people.

“Oh, don’t they? Here’s a vain boy who brushes his hair a dozen times a day, and quiddles over his collar till he is so tired he can hardly stand,” laughed Miss Celia, with a little tweak of his ear.

“I should like to know what this is for,” demanded Thorny, in a dignified tone, presenting a black tie.

“For my other boy. He is going to church with me,” and Miss Celia tied a second knot for this young gentleman, with a smile that seemed to brighten up even the rusty hatband.

“Well, I like that—” began Thorny, in a tone that contradicted his words.

A look from his sister reminded him of what she had told him half an hour ago, and he stopped short, understanding now why she was “extra good to the little tramp.”

“So do I, for you are of no use as a driver yet, and I don’t like to fasten Lita when I have my best gloves on,” said Miss Celia, in a tone that rather nettled Master Thorny.

“Is Ben going to black my boots before he goes?” with a glance at the new shoes which caused them to creak uneasily.

“No; he is going to black mine, if he will be so kind. You won’t need boots for a week yet, so we won’t waste any time over them. You will find everything in the shed, Ben; and at ten you may go for Lita.”

With that, Miss Celia walked her brother off to the dining room, and Ben retired to vent his ire in such energetic demonstrations with the blacking brush that the little boots shone splendidly.

He thought he had never seen anything as pretty as his mistress when, an hour later, she came out of the house in her white shawl and bonnet, holding a book and a late lily of the valley in the pearl-colored gloves, which he hardly dared to touch as he helped her into the carriage. He had seen a good many fine ladies in his life; and those he had known had been very gay in the colors of their hats and gowns, very fond of cheap jewelry, and much given to feathers, lace, and furbelows; so it rather puzzled him to discover why Miss Celia looked so sweet and elegant in such a simple suit. He did not then know that the charm was in the woman, not the clothes; or that merely living near such a person would do more to give him gentle manners, good principles, and pure thoughts, than almost any other training he could have had. But he was conscious that it was pleasant to be there, neatly dressed, in good company, and going to church like a respectable boy. Somehow, the lonely feeling got better as he rolled along between green fields, with the June sunshine brightening everything, a restful quiet in the air, and a friend beside him who sat silently looking out at the lovely world with what he afterward learned to call her “Sunday face”— a soft, happy look, as if all the work and weariness of the past week were forgotten, and she was ready to begin afresh when this blessed day was over.

“Well, child, what is it?” she asked, catching his eye as he stole a shy glance at her, one of many which she had not seen.

“I was only thinking you looked as if—”

“As if what? Don’t be afraid,” she said, for Ben paused and fumbled at the reins, feeling half ashamed to tell his fancy.

“— you were saying prayers,” he added, wishing she had not caught him.

“So I was. Don’t you, when you are happy?”

“No, ‘m. I’m glad, but I don’t say anything.”

“Words are not needed; but they help, sometimes, if they are sincere and sweet.