out having the slightest suspicion as to what his friends had done
for him, Paul was so excited by the evident secret which was being
kept from him that he was very impatient for the time to come when he
could know what it was.

Never before had the boys seemed so anxious to be with him as they
were during that afternoon, and he quite forgot their seeming
coolness of the morning. One or all of them--excepting Mopsey, of
course, who was obliged to remain at his stand in the absence of the
boy who sometimes acted as clerk for him--kept near Paul all the day;
and when it was time to go to dinner, it seemed as if they were
escorting him home.

Once or twice while they were eating dinner some one of the party had
said, "Now, Ben, now!" but Ben had shaken his head significantly and
continued eating, as if he had no other duty before him.

When the meal was finished, instead of getting up from the table as
they were in the habit of doing, each one of Mrs. Green's boarders, as
well as herself and Nelly, remained at the table as if waiting for
something, and Paul looked at them in the greatest surprise.

"Mister Weston," said Ben, gravely, as he pushed his plate farther on
the table, and arose from his seat as if he had a long speech to
deliver, "us fellers have seen that you wasn't feelin' very nice at
havin' to stay with us, an' we kinder thought you wanted to leave us
'cause things didn't go to suit you."

As he paused for a moment, Paul, who had been in a perfect maze of
wonder at this preface to the speech, said, quickly,

"I'm sure things go to please me as much as you can make them; but
you mustn't feel angry if I don't want to stay, 'cause you know just
how it happened that I came here; an' when I think of my father an'
mother an' my sister, I can't--help--feeling--"

[Illustration: "MISTER WESTON," SAID BEN, GRAVELY.]

Here Paul burst into a flood of tears at the thought that his
companions were reproving him for grieving for those whom he loved so
dearly, and whom he feared he might never meet again. Ben hesitated at
this grief of his friend, and for a moment it seemed as if he could
not continue until he had tried to console him; but like one who has a
duty to perform, and must do it as quickly as possible, he continued:

"We ain't layin' anything up agin you 'cause you don't want to stay
round here, for we don't blame you, seeing how you've got a good home
to go to; an' if we had one we should tear round wo