paddling to
and from the water-barrel, leaving a wet and muddy trail behind him,
and gleefully deposited dipperfuls of water into the woodbox. He was
finally discovered by his brother, promptly cuffed, and set to reverse
the order of his going.

The arrival of Jake from the mill was the signal for a shrieking exodus
in his direction, and soon afterward they were all seated around the
table. The twins were placed opposite each other, to prevent
hair-pulling--making faces did not cause much disturbance--and Jake and
Hannah sat at either end, gazing at the array with much the same air as
that with which a pair of good-tempered, puzzled hens might regard a
swarm of agile ducklings.

After Jake had rapturously praised the fine appearance of the table,
the orphans were, with some difficulty, prevailed upon to sit still
while the blessing was being asked; and then the pancakes and the hot
biscuits and the maple syrup began to disappear in an amazing manner.

"Well, an' how's daddy's little woodpecker?" asked Jake, passing his
big hand fondly over Joey's red curls. "Been a good boy to-day?"

"Yep," answered the baby in muffled tones. He looked up at his
foster-father cunningly. "You won't t'rash me w'en I been a good boy,
will yeh?"

"Bless the baby's heart! Who'd talk o' thrashin' you?" roared the big
man. "If any fellow lifts a finger to you, you let daddy
know--an'--an'--he'll bash their heads in for them!" he added
explosively.

The elder boy glanced up at the man with an admiring flash in his old,
weary eyes. "Ole Mis' Cummins uster lambaste him when she came home at
night," he said in a hard voice. "That's what's made them marks on his
legs."

Jake Sawyer set his teeth and Hannah sighed and shook her head. Any
mention of the old drunken woman with whom the children had lived,
before the Home rescued them, the orphans well knew always stirred
their foster-parents' tender hearts.

"Tim uster throw stones at her, an' stick pins into her when she was
drunk!" cried the black-haired twin, in shrill triumph. "An' she uster
pull my hair, too, an' Lennie's, an' we stole her scissors an' cut it
off awful short. But it didn't do no good, 'cause she uster whack us
over the heads with her walkin'-stick."

"Well, there ain't nobody goin' to whack any o' yous any more," said
big Jake Sawyer grimly. "'Ceptin' it's me, when you're bad," he added
warningly.

This awful threat was received with loud laughter, and