cuit
yesterday."

"Why did you not come to me instead of the miller?"

"I was afraid you would send me back to the Asylum; but you won't,--I
know you won't, Salome."

"Suppose I had not happened to hear you crying,--what would have
become of you? Did you intend to starve here in the swamp?"

"I thought I would wait till the miller left home, and then beg his
wife to give me some bread, and, if I could get nothing, I was going
to pull up some carrots that I saw growing in a field back of the
house. Oh, Salome, I am so hungry and so tired!"

She sat down on a heap of last year's leaves, which autumn winds and
winter rains had driven against the trunk of a decayed and fallen
sweet-gum, and, drawing the weary head with its shock of matted yellow
curls to her lap, she covered her own face with her hands to hide the
hot tears that streamed over her cheeks.

"Salome, are you very mad with me?"

"Yes, Stanley; you have behaved very badly, and I don't know what I
ought to do with you."

He tried to put aside one of her shielding hands, and failing, wound
his arms around her waist, and nestled as close as possible.

"Sister, please let me stay and live with you, and I promise--I
declare--I will be a good boy."

"Poor little fellow! You don't in the least know what you are talking
about. How can you live with me when I have no home, and not a
dollar?"

"I thought you stayed with a rich lady, and had everything nice that
you wanted."

"I do not expect to have even a shelter much longer. The lady who
takes care of me is sick, and cannot live very long; and, when she
dies, I don't know where I shall go or what I may be obliged to do."

"If you will only keep me I will help you work. At the Asylum I saw
wood, and pick peas, and pull out grass and weeds from the strawberry
vines, and sometimes I sweep the yards. Just try me a little while,
Salome, and see how smart I can be."

"Would you be willing to leave poor little Jessie at the Asylum? If
she felt so lonesome when you were there, how will she get along
without you?"

"Oh, we could steal her out some night, and keep her with us. Salome,
I tell you I don't mean to go back there. I will die first. I will
drown myself, or run away to sea. I would rather starve to death here
in the swamp. Everybody else can get a home, and why can't we?"

"Because your father was a drunkard, and left his children to the
charity of the poor-house; and, God knows, I heartily wish we