all been too good to come true!

Two or three times, with a nubbin of chalk, he tried to draw the face of
the young man on that handy bit of kitchen wall where the smooth plaster
showed. But what unpracticed hand could trace such a splendid
countenance? and what bit of white crayon could give any idea of a cheek
all tan and red? It was one thing, and easy, to suggest Big Tom, with
his bulging eyes, his huge, twisted nose, his sloping chin and his
Saturday night bristles. But regular features were quite another matter.

Then one morning as he stood writing the big word "landscape" on the
plaster, this word being out of _The Last of the Mohicans_, which he
held in his left hand, his attention was caught by a sound in the hall.
Some one seemed to be walking about aimlessly, as if uncertain where to
knock.

Johnnie dropped his book into the big shirt, reached the door in a few
long jumps, jerked it wide, and--looked straight into a smiling, ruddy
face.

CHAPTER XVII

MR. PERKINS

HE was real! He had come! In a uniform, too, and boots, and a
hat!--looking, in fact, even more wonderful than he had under the
Elevated.

"Oh!" breathed Johnnie, so glad and proud all at once that he forgot the
apron and his hair, or that the table was still strewn with the
breakfast dishes. He fell back a step. "Oh, Mister Leader!"

The young man entered, lifting his hat from his head as he came, and
displaying short, smooth, dark hair that glistened even in that poorly
lighted room. "How are you, Johnnie!" he said heartily. They shook
hands.

"I'm fine!" answered Johnnie, smiling his sunniest.

"Good!" The other gave a swift glance round. And certainly he was
neither shocked nor delighted with the kitchen, for he acted as if he
was seeing the sort of place he had expected to see--until he spied the
wheel chair. Then he seemed surprised, and greatly interested. He laid
his hat among the breakfast cups and crossed the room softly to look
down at the little old man crumpled, sleeping, in the folds of the
moth-eaten coat, the doll on one arm.

"Grandpa Barber," explained Johnnie, speaking low. "I took him on a long
trip down the Miss'sippi this mornin', and he's awful tired."

The young man nodded. A curious wrinkle had come between his brows, as
if some thought were troubling him. Also, even his forehead was red
now. Suddenly he took out a handkerchief, turned, and walked to the
window, where he used the handkerchief rather