his sake."

For a moment Miss Cynthia softened. She had been very fond of her
stepbrother; it seemed that his voice appealed to her across the grave
in behalf of his child. But the crust of years was not to be so easily
broken.

"Your father meant that I would look after you," she said, "and I mean
to, but I can't afford to keep you here. You'll have a good place at
Mr. Robins', if you behave yourself. I'm going to take you down now,
before I unharness the pony, so go and wash your face while I put up
your things. Don't look so woebegone, for pity's sake! I'm not taking
you to prison."

Wilbur turned and went silently to the kitchen. Miss Cynthia thought
she heard a sob. She went with a firm step into the little bedroom off
the hall and took a purse out of a drawer.

"I s'pose I ought," she said doubtfully. "I don't s'pose he has a
cent. I daresay he'll lose or waste it."

She counted out seventy-five cents carefully. When she came out,
Wilbur was at the door. She put the money awkwardly into his hand.

"There, see that you don't spend it on any foolishness."

* * * * *

Miss Cynthia's Action made a good deal of talk in Wilmot. The women,
headed by Mrs. John Joe--who said behind Cynthia's back what she did
not dare say to her face--condemned her. The men laughed and said that
Cynthia was a shrewd one; there was no getting round her. Miss Cynthia
herself was far from easy. She could not forget Wilbur's wistful eyes,
and she had heard that Robins was a hard master.

A week after the boy had gone she saw him one day at the store. He was
lifting heavy bags from a cart. The work was beyond his strength, and
he was flushed and panting. Miss Cynthia's conscience gave her a hard
stab. She bought a roll of peppermints and took them over to him. He
thanked her timidly and drove quickly away.

"Robins hasn't any business putting such work on a child," she said to
herself indignantly. "I'll speak to him about it."

And she did--and got an answer that made her ears tingle. Mr. Robins
bluntly told her he guessed he knew what was what about his hands. He
weren't no nigger driver. If she wasn't satisfied, she might take the
boy away as soon as she liked.

Miss Cynthia did not get much comfort out of life that summer. Almost
everywhere she went she was sure to meet Wilbur, engaged in some hard
task. She could not help seeing how miserably pale and thin he had
become. The worry had its effec