s the
professor had expected. Presently the old man left the room and Keith
sat down on the side of the bed.

"What makes you so still, Jonesy?" he asked. "You haven't said a word
for the last half hour."

"I was thinking about Barney," he answered, keeping his face turned
away. "Barney is my brother, you know."

"Yes, so grandmother said," answered Keith. "How big is he?"

"'Bout as big as yourn." There was a choke in Jonesy's voice now.
"Seein' yourn put his arm across your shoulder and pullin' your head
back by one ear and pinchin' you sort in fun like, made me think the way
Barney uster do to me."

Keith did not know what to say, so there was a long, awkward pause.

"I'd never a-left him," said Jonesy, "but the boss said it 'ud only be a
little while and we'd make so much money showin' the bear that I'd have
a whole pile to take home. I could ride back on the cars and take a
whole trunk full of nice things to Barney,--clothes, and candy, and a
swell watch and chain, and a bustin' beauty of a bike. Now the bear's
sold and the boss has run away, and I don't know how I can get back to
Barney. Him an me's all each other's got, and I want to see him
_so_ bad."

The little fellow's lip quivered, and he put up one bandaged hand to
wipe away the hot tears that would keep coming, in spite of his efforts
not to make a baby of himself. There was something so pitiful in the
gesture that Keith looked across at Malcolm and then patted the
bedclothes with an affectionate little hand.

"Never mind, Jonesy," he said, "papa will be home in the spring and
he'll send you back to Barney." But Jonesy never having known anything
of fathers whose chief pleasure is in spending money to make little
sons happy, was not comforted by that promise as much as Keith thought
he ought to be.

"But I won't be here then," he sobbed. "They're goin' to put me in a
'sylum, and I can't get out for so long that maybe Barney will be dead
before we ever find each other again."

He was crying violently now.

"Who is going to put you in an asylum?" asked Malcolm, lifting an end of
the pillow under which Jonesy's head had burrowed, to hide the grief
that his eight-year-old manhood made him too proud to show.

"An old lady with white hair what comes here every day. The professor
said he would keep me if he wasn't so old and hard up, and she said as
how a 'sylum was the proper place for a child of the slums, and he said
yes if they wasn't nobody t