, as he sat, rose higher than his
yellow, ill-kempt head. Dixie heard Henley's step and turned a very
grave face on him.

"It's the poor little orphan Sam Pitman adopted by law the other day,"
she informed him in a gentle aside, as her hand rested tenderly on the
child's head, which was supported by his frail knees in their ragged and
patched covering. "I've had my eye on him all evening. He's hoed out all
this since dinner." She waved an indignant hand over the patch of corn
immediately about them. "I couldn't have done more myself, and I know
what work is. Yes, I was watching him, and awhile ago I saw him stagger
an' fall. He'd fainted from overheat. I come as quick as I could. I got
water in his hat and dashed it on him--look how wet it made him, but it
revived him. He wanted to work on, but I made him stop and set down.
He's timid and shy before you, but me 'n him are great friends, ain't
we, Joe? He helped me hunt eggs the other day"--she was running on now
in a tender, caressing tone--"and I gave him some of my pie. He could
crawl to places I never got at before, and we raked in a peck that would
have been a dead loss, for I've already got too many broods."

"I heard Pitman had got a boy," Henley said, guardedly, "and I wondered
what the Ordinary meant by turning such a little fellow over to a man
like him. It seems like there was only one or two applications, and the
boy had to be sent somewhere right off. Do you feel better now, Joe?"

"Yes, sir," the child answered. "It wasn't nothing. It didn't hurt a
bit."

Henley caught Dixie's quick upward glance. "Ain't it pitiful?" she said,
with a shake of her head and a catch in her full voice. "Huh, 'didn't
hurt,' I say! You dear little boy!"

With a brave smile the lad stood up to the full height of his spare
frame. He was still pale, and his hair was matted down over his brow by
the douche it had received. His little, cotton, checked shirt was open
at the neck, disclosing a rather low chest. He stooped down and picked
up the hoe, which was of the regulation size and weight used by men.
Dixie was protesting against his working more that day, when, looking
behind her, she saw the foster-father of the boy approaching.

"What's the matter here?" the farmer growled, eying the group
distrustfully with his small gray eyes under pent-house brows. He was
short of stature, sinewy, and grizzled as to head and bristling beard.

"Miss Dixie says the boy fainted," Henley an