oats ready to shove off; but his white tormentor went at him again,
with,--

"Well, then, if you've lived round here as long as that, you must know
everybody."

"Reckon I do."

"Are there any nice fellows around here? Any like me?"

"De nicest young gen'lman round dis bay," replied Dick, "is Mr. Dab
Kinzer. But he ain't like you. Not nuff to hurt him."

"Dab Kinzer," exclaimed the stranger. "Where'd he get his name?"

"In de bay, I 'spect," said Dick, as he shoved his boat off; "caught 'im
wid a hook."

"Anyhow," said the strange boy to himself, "that's probably the kind of
fellow my father would wish me to associate with. Only it's likely he's
very ignorant."

And he walked away towards the village, with the air of a man who had
forgotten more than the rest of his race were ever likely to find out.

At all events, Dick Lee had managed to say a good word for his
benefactor, little as he could guess what might be the consequences.

Meantime Dab Kinzer, when he went out from breakfast, had strolled away
to the north fence, for a good look at the house which was thenceforth
to be the home of his favorite sister. He had seen it before, every day
since he could remember; but it seemed to have a fresh and almost
mournful interest for him just now.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, as he leaned against the fence. "Putting up
ladders? Oh, yes, I see! That's old Tommy McGrew, the house-painter.
Well, Ham's house needs a new coat as badly as I did. Sure it'll fit
too. Only it ain't used to it, any more'n I am."

"Dabney!"

It was his mother's voice, and Dab felt like "minding" very promptly
that morning.

"Dabney, my boy, come here to the gate."

"Ham Morris is having his house painted," he remarked, as he walked
towards his mother.

"Is he?" she said. "We'll go and see about it."

The gate between the two "side-yards" had been there from time
immemorial, and-they walked right through. As they drew nearer the
Morris house, however, Dabney discovered that carpenters as well as
painters were plying their trade in and about the old homestead. There
were window-sashes piled here, and blinds there; a new door or so, ready
for use, a great stack of bundles of shingles, some barrels of lime, and
a heap of sand. Whichever way Dab looked, there were visible signs of an
approaching renovation.

"Going to fix it all over," he remarked.

"Yes," replied his mother: "it'll be as good as new. It was well built,
and will bear men