t yourself, Sis, haven't you?" said he.

"And about you, too, Dear," Ann retorted. "But, Horace, I shouldn't have
thought of keeping them, if you hadn't consented."

She looked so troubled, her brow puckered up in thought, that he smiled
again.

"Of course, you wouldn't--I know that. But I'm not in the least sorry.
We've money enough to do a kindness once in awhile. And as long as you
don't work yourself to death over them I sha'n't complain."

They were silent for a little while. Then presently Ann spoke musingly:

"Horace, do those children remind you of someone?"

"I don't know that they do. I'm not a fellow who notices resemblances.
Why?"

"I can't tell. Only, when they stood there tonight by the table,
looking so forlorn, there was something familiar about them."

"Your dear, tender heart imagined it," Horace declared.

"Possibly. Still, the feeling has been with me ever since. Horace, I've
always wanted to do some real work, and don't you think this--"

"Hark!" Horace interrupted. "Wasn't that the bell?"

"Yes, it's Everett, I hope," said Ann, rising, "I thought perhaps he
would run in. Yes, I hear his voice! Shall I bring him in here for a few
moments?"

"Yes."

When Everett came in, Horace noted that he had lost the frown.
Brimbecomb good naturedly demanded if Ann intended to start a
kindergarten. He recounted how Mr. and Mrs. Vandecar had received their
excuses, and then said:

"Ann, Mrs. Vandecar thought you so charitably inclined. She seemed quite
exercised over the story. But you don't intend to keep them here after
tomorrow morning, do you?"

"Well, you see, Everett," Ann explained, "Horace and I have talked for a
long time about doing some real charity work; so now we're going to try
an experiment."

"These boys--"

Ann interrupted. "One of them is a girl."

Horace saw the change on Brimbecomb's face and said hurriedly:

"The girl had on her brother's clothes, that's all."

"Strange proceedings all the way through, though," snapped Everett.

He was showing himself in a new light, and Horace noted that the young
lawyer's face bore sarcasm and unpleasant cynicism. He wondered that
his gentle, obedient sister had gathered courage to stand against her
lover's wishes; for Everett had expressed a decided objection to Ann's
working for the squatter children. Suddenly he felt a twinge of dislike
for the man before him, and his respect for Ann deepened. How many
girls, he reasoned, would