Wasn’t it nice of the wind to blow ’em down?” she called out, picking them up and running after her sister, who had strolled moodily along, still looking about for her sworn foe, Sally Folsom.

The flowers soothed the feelings of the little girls, because they had longed for them, and bravely resisted the temptation to climb up the trellis and help themselves, since their mother had forbidden such feats, owing to a fall Bab got trying to reach a honeysuckle from the vine which ran all over the porch.

Home they went and poured out their tale, to Mrs. Moss’s great amusement; for she saw in it only some playmate’s prank, and was not much impressed by the mysterious sneeze and laugh.

“We’ll have a grand rummage Monday, and find out what is going on over there,” was all she said.

But Mrs. Moss could not keep her promise, for on Monday it still rained, and the little girls paddled off to school like a pair of young ducks, enjoying every puddle they came to, since India-rubber boots made wading a delicious possibility. They took their dinner, and at noon regaled a crowd of comrades with an account of the mysterious dog, who appeared to be haunting the neighborhood, as several of the other children had seen him examining their back yards with interest. He had begged of them, but to none had he exhibited his accomplishments except Bab and Betty; and they were therefore much set up, and called him “our dog” with an air. The cake transaction remained a riddle, for Sally Folsom solemnly declared that she was playing tag in Mamie Snow’s barn at that identical time. No one had been near the old house but the two children, and no one could throw any light upon that singular affair.

It produced a great effect, however; for even “teacher” was interested, and told such amazing tales of a juggler she once saw, that doughnuts were left forgotten in dinner baskets, and wedges of pie remained suspended in the air for several minutes at a time, instead of vanishing with miraculous rapidity as usual. At afternoon recess, which the girls had first, Bab nearly dislocated every joint of her little body trying to imitate the poodle’s antics. She had practiced on her bed with great success, but the woodshed floor was a different thing, as her knees and elbows soon testified.

“It looked just as easy as anything; I don’t see how he did it,” she said, coming down with a bump after vainly attempting to walk on her hands.

“My gracious, there he is this very minute!” cried Betty, who sat on a little woodpile near the door.

There was a general rush, and sixteen small girls gazed out into the rain as eagerly as if to behold Cinderella’s magic coach, instead of one forlorn dog trotting by through the mud.

“Oh, do call him in and make him dance!” cried the girls, all chirping at once, till it sounded as if a flock of sparrows had taken possession of the shed.

“I will call him — he knows me,” and Bab scrambled up, forgetting how she had chased the poodle and called him names two days ago.

He evidently had not forgotten, however; for, though he paused and looked wistfully at them, he would not approach, but stood dripping in the rain, with his frills much bedraggled, while his tasseled tail wagged slowly, and his pink nose pointed suggestively to the pails and baskets, nearly empty now.

“He’s hungry; give him something to eat, and then he’ll see that we don’t want to hurt him,” suggested Sally, starting a contribution with her last bit of bread and butter.

Bab caught up her new pail, and collected all the odds and ends; then tried to beguile the poor beast in to eat and be comforted. But he only came as far as the door, and, sitting up, begged with such imploring eyes that Bab put down the pail and stepped back, saying pitifully—

“The poor thing is starved; let him eat all he wants, and we won’t touch him.”

The girls drew back with little clucks of interest and compassion; but I regret to say their charity was not rewarded as they expected, for, the minute the coast was clear, the dog marched boldly up, seized the handle of the pail in his mouth, and was off with it, galloping down the road at a great pace. Shrieks arose from the children, especially Bab and Betty, basely bereaved of their new dinner pail; but no one could follow the thief, for the bell rang, and in they went, so much excited that the boys rushed tumultuously forth to discover the cause.

By the time school was over the sun was out, and Bab and Betty hastened home to tell their wrongs and be comforted by mother, who did it most effectually.

“Never mind, dears, I’ll get you another pail, if he doesn’t bring it back as he did before. As it is too wet for you to play out, you shall go and see the old coach house as I promised. Keep on your rubbers and come along.”

This delightful prospect much assuaged their woe, and away they went, skipping gaily down the graveled path, while Mrs. Moss followed, with skirts well tucked up, and a great bunch of keys in her hand, for she lived at the Lodge, and had charge of the premises.

The small door of the coach house was fastened inside, but the large one had a padlock on it; and this being quickly unfastened, one half swung open, and the little girls ran in, too eager and curious even to cry out when they found themselves at last in possession of the long-coveted old carriage. A dusty, musty concern enough; but it had a high seat, a door, steps that let down, and many other charms which rendered it most desirable in the eyes of children.

Bab made straight for the box and Betty for the door; but both came tumbling down faster than they went up, when from the gloom of the interior came a shrill bark, and a low voice saying quickly, “Down, Sancho! down!”

“Who is there?” demanded Mrs. Moss, in a stern tone, backing toward the door with both children clinging to her skirts.

The well-known curly white head was popped out of the broken window, and a mild whine seemed to say, “Don’t be alarmed, ladies; we won’t hurt you.”

“Come out this minute, or I shall have to come and get you,” called Mrs. Moss, growing very brave all of a sudden as she caught sight of a pair of small, dusty shoes under the coach.

“Yes, ’m, I’m coming as fast as I can,” answered a meek voice, as what appeared to be a bundle of rags leaped out of the dark, followed by the poodle, who immediately sat down at the bare feet of his owner with a watchful air, as if ready to assault anyone who might approach too near.

“Now, then, who are you, and how did you get here?” asked Mrs. Moss, trying to speak sternly, though her motherly eyes were already full of pity as they rested on the forlorn little figure before her.

Ben

CHAPTER 3

“Please, ’m, my name is Ben Brown, and I’m travelin’.”

“Where are you going?”

“Anywheres to get work.”

“What sort of work can you do?”

“All kinds. I’m used to horses.”

“Bless me! such a little chap as you?”

“I’m twelve, ma’am, and can ride anything on four legs”; and the small boy gave a nod that seemed to say, “Bring on your Cruisers. I’m ready for ’em.”

“Haven’t you got any folks?” asked Mrs. Moss, amused but still anxious, for the sunburnt face was very thin, the eyes hollow with hunger or pain, and the ragged figure leaned on the wheel as if too weak or weary to stand alone.

“No, ’m, not of my own; and the people I was left with beat me so, I — run away.” The last words seemed to bolt out against his will, as if the woman’s sympathy irresistibly won the child’s confidence.

“Then I don’t blame you. But how did you get here?”

“I was so tired I couldn’t go any further, and I thought the folks up here at the big house would take me in. But the gate was locked, and I was so discouraged, I jest laid down outside and give up.”

“Poor little soul, I don’t wonder,” said Mrs. Moss, while the children looked deeply interested at mention of their gate.

The boy drew a long breath, and his eyes began to twinkle in spite of his forlorn state as he went on, while the dog pricked up his ears at mention of his name—

“While I was restin’ I heard someone come along inside, and I peeked, and saw them little girls playin’. The vittles looked so nice I couldn’t help wantin’ ’em; but I didn’t take nothin’ — it was Sancho, and he took the cake for me.”

Bab and Betty gave a gasp and stared reproachfully at the poodle, who half closed his eyes with a meek, unconscious look that was very droll.

“And you made him put it back?” cried Bab.

“No; I did it myself. Got over the gate when you was racin’ after Sanch, and then clim’ up on the porch and hid,” said the boy with a grin.

“And you laughed?” asked Bab.

“Yes.”

“And sneezed?” added Betty.

“Yes.”

“And threw down the roses?” cried both.

“Yes; and you liked ’em, didn’t you?”

“Course we did! What made you hide?” said Bab.

“I wasn’t fit to be seen,” muttered Ben, glancing at his tatters as if he’d like to dive out of sight into the dark coach again.

“How came you here?” demanded Mrs. Moss, suddenly remembering her responsibility.

“I heard ’em talk about a little winder and a shed, and when they’d gone I found it and come in. The glass was broke, and I only pulled the nail out. I haven’t done a mite of harm sleepin’ here two nights. I was so tuckered out I couldn’t go on nohow, though I tried a-Sunday.”

“And came back again?”

“Yes, ’m; it was so lonesome in the rain, and this place seemed kinder like home, and I could hear ’em talkin’ outside, and Sanch he found vittles, and I was pretty comfortable.”

“Well, I never!” ejaculated Mrs. Moss, whisking up a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes, for the thought of the poor little fellow alone there for two days and nights with no bed but musty straw, no food but the scraps a dog brought him, was too much for her. “Do you know what I’m going to do with you?” she asked, trying to look calm and cool, with a great tear running down her wholesome red cheek, and a smile trying to break out at the corners of her lips.

“No, ma’am; and I dunno as I care.