e niver had no split in
our gang yet. Will ye stay wid us?"

Tell and Jim looked at each other. Then Tell spoke. He had the right
stuff in him at the last test always.

"Yes, boys, we will, come what will come."

Jim grinned at Tell. "I'll stand by Tell, if it kills me," he declared.

We put little trust in his ability. It is the way of the world to
overlook the stone the Master Builder sometimes finds useful for His
purpose.

"An' you may need us real soon, too," Tell called back as the two went
out.

"By cracky, I bet they know more 'n we do," Bud Anderson declared.

Dave Mead looked serious.

"Well, I believe they'll hold with us anyhow," he said. "What they know
may help us yet."

The coming of another tremendous downpour sent us scampering homeward.
O'mie and I had started up the hill together, but the underside of the
clouds fell out just as we reached Judson's gate, and by the time we had
come to Mrs. Whately's we were ready to dive inside for shelter. When
the rain settled down for an all-night stay, Mrs. Whately would wrap us
against it before we left her. She put an old coat of Mr. Whately's on
me. I had gone out in my shirt sleeves. Marjie looked bravely up at my
tall form. I knew she was thinking of him who had worn that coat. The
only thing for O'mie was Marjie's big water proof cloak. The
old-fashioned black-and-silver mix with the glistening black buttons,
such as women wore much in those days. It had a hood effect, with a
changeable red silk lining, fastened at the neck. To my surprise O'mie
made no objection at all to wearing a girl's wrap. But I could never
fully forecast the Irish boy. He drew the circular garment round him
and pulled the hood over his head.

"Come, Philip, me strong protector," he called, "let's be skiting."

At the door he turned back to Marjie and said in a low voice, "Phil will
mistake me fur a girl an' be wantin' me to go flower-huntin' out on the
West Prairie, but I won't do it."

Marjie blushed like the June roses, and slammed the door after him. A
moment later she opened it again and held the light to show us the
dripping path to the gate. Framed in the doorway with the light held up
by her round white arm, the dampness putting a softer curl in every
stray lock of her rich brown hair, the roses still blooming on her
cheeks, she sent us away. Too young and sweet-spirited she seemed for
any evil to assail her in the shelter of that home.

Late at night again the