t a personal sense
of gratitude towards her for having kept three of his most unruly
charges quiet so long. He felt, too, that she did not ask merely from
idle curiosity, as so many strangers had done.

"Yes, everybody asks about them, for they _are_ uncommon
bright-looking, but it's very little anybody knows to tell."

Then he gave her their history in a few short sentences. Their father
had been killed in a railroad accident early in the spring. Their
mother had not survived the terrible shock more than a week. No trace
could be found of any relatives, and there was no property left to
support them. Several good homes had been offered to the children
singly in different towns, but no one was willing to take both. They
clung together in such an agony of grief, when an attempt was made at
separation, that no one had the heart to part them.

Then some one connected with the management of the Aid Society opened
a correspondence with an old farmer of his acquaintance out West. It
ended in his offering to take them both for a while. His married
daughter, who had no children of her own, was so charmed with Robin's
picture that she wanted to adopt him. She could not be ready to take
him, though, before they moved into their new house, which they were
building several miles away. The old farmer wanted the older boy to
help him with his market gardening, and was willing to keep the little
one until his daughter was ready to take him. So they could be
together for a while, and virtually they would always remain in the
same family.

Mr. Dearborn was known to be such an upright, reliable man, so
generous and kind-hearted in all his dealings, that it was decided to
accept his offer.

"Do they go much farther?" asked the interested listener, when he had
told her all he knew of the desolate little pilgrims.

"Only a few miles the other side of Kenton," he answered.

"Why, Kenton is where I live," she exclaimed. "I am glad it will be so
near." Then as he passed on she thought to herself, "It would be cruel
to separate them. I never saw such devotion as that of the older boy."
His feet could not reach the floor, but he sat up uncomfortably on the
high seat, holding Robin in his lap. The curly head rested heavily on
his shoulder, and his arms ached with their burden, but he never moved
except to brush away the flies, or fan the flushed face of the little
sleeper with his hat.

Something in the tired face, the large appealing e