Trafton, drily.

However, the boy's bright face wore an expression of such honest regret
that he added, with a good-humored accent:

"Well, well, I was a boy myself once. You must be more careful another
time, my lad."

"That I will, sir."

And as Mr. Trafton began to raise the overturned buggy, the boy took
hold and helped him.

On getting the vehicle righted, they found that one wheel was broken so
badly as to need repairs before the journey could be continued, and Mr.
Trafton surveyed the damage with grave concern.

The boy gave a low whistle, and murmured:

"Here's a state of things!"

"I don't see what I'm going to do," remarked the gentleman. "There's
nobody in this region who could mend that wheel, I suppose?"

"Oh yes there is!" cried the boy, brightening up. "Doran's blacksmith
shop is only a little ways down the road; you can get the wheel fixed
there. I'll go along and hold up this side of the buggy; and I'll pay
the bill, sir, as I caused the damage."

Mr. Trafton looked at him approvingly, but answered:

"You need not do that, my boy. The bill won't amount to much; but the
job may take some time--and where can I leave my little girl? I suppose
you would not care to wait in the blacksmith shop, Linda?"

Before Linda could reply, the boy said, looking at her frankly, and not
at all abashed:

"She can stay with my grandma while you're having the wheel fixed. Mrs.
Deacon Burbank is my grandma; she lives right here, sir," pointing out
the house.

"And where do you live?" asked Mr. Trafton, who took a liking to Mrs.
Deacon Burbank's grandson, for all his annoyance at the trouble which
that lively youth had caused him.

"I'm staying with grandma this summer," said the boy; "but I live in
Boston when I'm at home. My name is John Burbank."

"Well, John, you will have to take Linda to your grandma, for I cannot
leave Billy standing here with this broken buggy."

"All right, sir; I'll be back in a minute, and help you down to
Doran's."

So saying, John Burbank led the way, and Linda followed, to the nearest
of the brown old houses--a big, broad-roofed domicile, with wide, double
doors and narrow windows, and with two great cherry trees in the front
yard, looking like two great drifts of snow, they were so thickly
covered with white blossoms.

A border of red and yellow tulips, gay daffodils, and "crown imperials,"
edged the narrow walk which led from the front gate around to the side
door, wh