e legs curved slightly outwards.

But the real secret--the real heart and soul of the matter--was
that being bow-legged was a great, great grief to Master Sunshine.
No one but his father ever knew this--not even his mother, or
Almira Jane, or Lucy. It was too sore a subject to speak of
freely.

It was on the day when he first put on trousers that his troubles
began. It seemed to him that people began then to make such odd
remarks about him; and the strangest thing of all was that they
would seem to quite forget that he heard every word they said, and
that they never seemed to understand how they were hurting his
feelings.

For a time he solved the difficulty in a clever way. He begged his
mother to make him some loose sailor suits with long bagging legs.

They served their purpose well, and so long as they lasted no one
ever spoke of the tender subject that he wished to avoid. But
still he never felt comfortable about them in his mind.

It seemed such a cowardly thing to hide his legs like that, and he
did so want to be manly in all his ways.

So, after a long talk one day with his father, as they sauntered
hand in hand down a shady country road, with Gyp sporting and
playing alongside, he decided to face the trouble bravely, and
wear knickerbockers like other boys of his age. And, instead of
sulking or fretting about what he could not help, he set himself
to making allowances for other people.

"Father says that every one has his trials," he would say to
himself sagely; "and I dare say that most folks have worse trials
than mine. So when Almira Jane is 'nervous,' and Lucy is fretful,
or mother has her bad headaches, I must just remember to be
'specially good to them. Maybe, after all, bow-leggedness isn't
the worst thing to put up with."

CHAPTER II.

THE WANDERER AND HIS WIFE.

Master Sunshine was such a busy boy. Sometimes it seemed to him
that the reason he did not get into as much mischief as other boys
of his age was because he really had no time in which to be idle.

There was school each day, to begin with, and lessons to be
prepared, and story-books to read, and the flower-garden to be
cared for, and Gyp to teach new tricks to, and the pets to be
tended and looked after,--in fact, there were more things than I
can tell you of always waiting to be done.

It was nearly one boy's work, for instance, to take care of the
Guinea fowls,--the handsome, mottled hens, that never knew when
they w