Miss Elvira.

Mrs. Rose stowed away the boy's belongings in the little bedroom off the
kitchen where she meant him to sleep; then she kindled the fire and got
supper. She made sassafras-tea, and the new boy, sitting beside Willy,
had a cup poured for him. But he did not drink much nor eat much,
although there were hot biscuits and berries and custards. He hung his
forlorn head with its shock of white hair, and only gave fleeting
glances at anything with his wild, blue eyes. He was a thin boy, smaller
than Willy, but he looked wiry and full of motion, like a wild rabbit.

After supper Mrs. Rose sent him for a pail of water; then he split up a
little pile of kindling-wood. After that he sat down on the kitchen
door-step in the soft twilight, and was silent.

Willy went into the sitting-room, where his mother and Miss Elvira were.
"He's settin' out there on the door-step, not speakin' a word," said he,
in a confidential whisper.

"Well, you had better sit down here with us and read your Sunday-school
book," said his mother. She and Miss Elvira had agreed that it was wiser
that Willy should not be too much with the Dickey boy until they knew
him better.

When it was nine o'clock Mrs. Rose showed the Dickey boy his bedroom.
She looked at him sharply; his small pale face showed red stains in the
lamplight. She thought to herself that he had been crying, and she spoke
to him as kindly as she could--she had not a caressing manner with
anybody but Willy. "I guess there's clothes enough on the bed," said
she. She looked curiously at the bundle and the wooden box. Then she
unfastened the bundle. "I guess I'll see what you've got for clothes,"
said she, and her tone was as motherly as she could make it towards this
outcast Dickey boy. She laid out his pitiful little wardrobe, and
examined the small ragged shirt or two and the fragmentary stockings. "I
guess I shall have to buy you some things if you are a good boy," said
she. "What have you got in that box?"--the boy hung his head--"I hope
you ain't got a pistol?"

"No, marm."

"You ain't got any powder, nor anything of that kind?"

"No, marm." The boy was blushing confusedly.

"I hope you're tellin' me the truth," Mrs. Rose said, and her tone was
full of severe admonition.

"Yes, marm." The tears rolled down the boy's cheeks, and Mrs. Rose said
no more. She told him she would call him in the morning, and to be
careful about his lamp. Then she left him. The Dickey boy l