ny other feeling than kindliness in its cheery roar.

But on this fifth birthday Tom presented himself to her childish mind in
a new light.

She had awakened early to find him standing at her small bedside and a
new doll lying in her arms. It was a bigger doll than she had ever owned
before, and so gaily dressed, that in her first rapture her breath quite
forsook her. When she recovered it, she scrambled up, holding her new
possession in one arm and clung with the other around Tom's neck.

"Oh, the lovely, lovely doll!" she cried, and then hid her face on his
shoulder.

"Hallo," said Tom, hugging her, "what is she hiding her eyes for?"

She nestled closer to him with a little sob of loving delight.

"Because--because of the doll," she answered, bewildered by her own
little demonstration and yet perfect in her confidence that he would
understand her.

"Well," said Tom, cheerfully, "that's a queer thing, ain't it? Look here,
did you know it was your birthday? Five years old to-day--think of that."

He sat down and settled her in her usual place on his knee, her doll in
her arms.

"To think," he said, "of her setting up a birthday on purpose to be five
years old and have a doll given her. That's a nice business, ain't it?"

After they had breakfasted together in state, the doll was carried into
the store to be played with there. It was a wet day, and, the air being
chilled by a heavy mountain rain, a small fire was burning in the stove,
and by this fire the two settled themselves to enjoy the morning
together, the weather precluding the possibility of their being disturbed
by many customers. But in the height of their quiet enjoyment they were
broken in upon by the sound of horse's hoofs splashing in the mud outside
and Mr. Stamps's hat appeared above the window-sill.

It was Sheba who saw it first, and in the strength of her desire to avoid
the wearer, she formed a desperate plan. She rose so quietly that Tom,
who was reading a paper, did not hear her, and, having risen, drew her
small chair behind the counter in the hope that, finding her place
vacant, the visitor would not suspect her presence.

In this she was not disappointed. Having brushed the mud from his feet on
the porch, Mr. Stamps appeared at the doorway, and, after his usual
precautionary glance about him, made his way to the stove. His manner was
at once propitiatory and friendly. He drew up a chair and put his wet
feet on the stove, where they k