government. I should
rather enjoy giving them a scare, if it were not for my wife and Betty."

The doctor fully made up his mind before he went home to send Conny on
his ways, but in the end he did no such thing. Old Timothy made much
pretense of finding whether he belonged to Dunsmore or Killbourne, and
talked bravely of taking him to the poor-house officers; but Timothy
found him a great convenience to his rheumatic old hands and feet, and
by the end of the summer Conny was as much at home as if he had been
bought, like Betty's ugly little terrier, or born in the house, like
blessed little Betty herself. It was Conny who gave the last rub to
Prince, and brought him to the door; Conny who, in cold or heat, was
ready with such good-natured promptness for any errand far or near;
Conny who could mend and make; who oiled rusty hinges, repaired broken
locks and latches, sharpened the kitchen knives, filed the old saws, and
put new handles to all the cast-away tools on the premises. Best of
all, in the doctor's eyes, it was Conny who knew every nook of mountain
and forest, and whose swift feet and skillful fingers sought out every
plant that grew, and brought it to his master's feet.

Only Bridget held to her deep suspicion of something wrong about Conny.

"The cratur's that shmart wid his two hands ye wudn't belave, mum, but I
misthrust he's shly: it's in the blood of 'im.

"You ought not to say such things, Bridget; you have no reason to think
Conny is not honest," Mrs. Hunter would say.

"It's not to say that he'd sthale, mum, but he's _shly_. I've coom upon
'im soodent wance or twicet, an' seen 'im shlip something intil 'is
pocket, an' 'im toornin' red in the face an' confused like. An' says I,
'Conny, is it something fine ye have?' An' the b'y walked away widout a
word jist."

Mrs. Hunter laughed. "He is just like every other boy in the
world--storing up all sorts of odds and ends, as if they were treasures.
I remember when Joe would hardly allow me to mend his pockets for fear I
should disturb some of his precious trinkets."

Biddy tossed her head with an air that plainly said her opinion was in
no wise changed, as she answered, discreetly, "Ye may be in the rights
of it, mum, but it's not mesilf would be judgin' the cratur by Master
Joe, that was born a gintleman, let alone the bringin' up."

Quite by accident Mrs. Hunter herself discovered the mystery in Conny's
bosom, for, sitting one day by the window at h