nto the little mittened hand held
out to him.

"That's for good luck," he said. "I was a boy myself, once. Law, law!
Sometimes I wish I could have stayed one."

Steven hardly knew whether to keep it or not, or what to say. The old
gentleman had resumed conversation with the proprietor and waved him
off impatiently.

"I'll get Robin some candy and save all the rest till Christmas," was
his first thought; but there was such a bewildering counter full of
toys on one side of the confectioner's shop that he couldn't make up
his mind to wait that long.

He bought some shining sticks of red and white peppermint and turned
to the toys. There was a tiny sailboat with a little wooden sailor on
deck; but Robin would always be dabbling in the water if he got that.
A tin horse and cart caught his eye. That would make such a clatter on
the bare kitchen floor.

At last he chose a gay yellow jumping-jack. All the way home he kept
feeling the two little bundles in his pocket. He could not help
smiling when the gables of the old house came in sight, thinking how
delighted Robin would be.

He could hardly wait till the horses were put away and fed, and he
changed impatiently from one foot to another, while Mr. Dearborn
searched in the straw of the wagon-bed for a missing package of
groceries. Then he ran to the house and into the big, warm kitchen,
all out of breath.

"Robin," he called, as he laid the armful of groceries on the kitchen
table, "look what Brother's brought you. Why, where's Robin?" he asked
of Mrs. Dearborn, who was busy stirring something on the stove for
supper. She had her back turned and did not answer.

"Where's Robin," he asked again, peering all around to see where the
bright curls were hiding.

She turned around and looked at him over her spectacles. "Well, I
s'pose I may's well tell you one time as another," she said
reluctantly. "Rindy came for him to-day. We talked it over and
thought, as long as there had to be a separation, it would be easier
for you both, and save a scene, if you wasn't here to see him go. He's
got a good home, and Rindy'll be kind to him."

Steven looked at her in bewilderment, then glanced around the cheerful
kitchen. His slate lay on a chair where Robin had been scribbling and
making pictures. The old cat that Robin had petted and played with
that very morning purred comfortably under the stove. The corncob
house he had built was still in the corner. Surely he could not be so