ely quoting Miss Celia, and ended with an irrepressible
burst of admiration which contrasted drolly with her first remark.

Betty added anxiously, "We can't let Ben go, any way. I know he wouldn't
want to, and Miss Celia would feel bad. Please don't ask him."

"He can do as he likes, I suppose. He hasn't got any folks of his own,
has he?"

"No, his father died in California, and Ben felt so bad he cried, and we
were real sorry, and gave him a piece of Ma, 'cause he was so lonesome,"
answered Betty, in her tender little voice, with a pleading look which
made the man stroke her smooth cheek and say, quite softly:

"Bless your heart for that! I wont take him away, child, or do a thing
to trouble anybody that's been good to him."

"He's coming now. I hear Sanch barking at the squirrels!" cried Bab,
standing up to get a good look down the road.

The man turned quickly, and Betty saw that he breathed fast as he
watched the spot where the low sunshine lay warmly on the red maple at
the corner. Into this glow came unconscious Ben, whistling "Rory
O'Moore," loud and clear, as he trudged along with a heavy bag of nuts
over his shoulder and the light full on his contented face. Sancho
trotted before and saw the stranger first, for the sun in Ben's eyes
dazzled him. Since his sad loss Sancho cherished a strong dislike to
tramps, and now he paused to growl and show his teeth, evidently
intending to warn this one off the premises.

"He wont hurt you----" began Bab, encouragingly; but before she could
add a chiding word to the dog, Sanch gave an excited howl, and flew at
the man's throat as if about to throttle him.

Betty screamed, and Bab was about to go to the rescue when both
perceived that the dog was licking the stranger's face in an ecstasy of
joy, and heard the man say as he hugged the curly beast:

"Good old Sanch! I knew he wouldn't forget master, and he doesn't."

"What's the matter?" called Ben, coming up briskly, with a strong grip
of his stout stick.

There was no need of any answer, for, as he came into the shadow, he saw
the man, and stood looking at him as if he were a ghost.

"It's father, Benny; don't you know me?" asked the man, with an odd sort
of choke in his voice as he thrust the dog away, and held out both hands
to the boy.

Down dropped the nuts, and crying, "Oh, Daddy, Daddy!" Ben cast himself
into the arms of the shabby velveteen coat, while poor Sanch tore round
them in distracted circles, b