ood to the little feller," was all the man said when she
ended her somewhat confused tale, in which she had jumbled the old coach
and Miss Celia, dinner-pails and nutting, Sancho and circuses.

"'Course we were! He's a nice boy and we are fond of him, and he likes
us," said Bab, heartily.

"'Specially me," put in Betty, quite at ease now, for the black eyes
had softened wonderfully, and the brown face was smiling all over.

"Don't wonder a mite. You are the nicest pair of little girls I've seen
this long time," and the man put a hand on either side of them, as if he
wanted to hug the chubby children. But he didn't do it; he merely smiled
and stood there asking questions till the two chatterboxes had told him
every thing there was to tell in the most confiding manner, for he very
soon ceased to seem like a stranger, and looked so familiar that Bab,
growing inquisitive in her turn, suddenly said,--

"Haven't you ever been here before? It seems as if I'd seen you."

"Never in my life. Guess you've seen somebody that looks like me," and
the black eyes twinkled for a minute as they looked into the puzzled
little faces before him, then he said, soberly,--

"I'm looking round for a likely boy; don't you think this Ben would
suite me? I want just such a lively sort of chap."

"Are you a circus man?" asked Bab, quickly.

"Well, no, not now. I'm in better business."

"I'm glad of it--we don't approve of 'em; but I do think they're
splendid!"

Bab began by gravely quoting Miss Celia, and ended with an irrepressible
burst of admiration which contrasted drolly with her first remark.

Betty added, anxiously: "We can't let Ben go any way. I know he
wouldn't want to, and Miss Celia would feel bad. Please don't ask him."

"He can do as he likes, I suppose. He hasn't got any folks of his own,
has he?"

"No, his father died in California, and Ben felt so bad he cried, and we
were real sorry, and gave him a piece of Ma, 'cause he was so lonesome,"
answered Betty, in her tender little voice, with a pleading look which
made the man stroke her smooth check and say, quite softly,--

"Bless your heart for that! I won't take him away, child, or do a thing
to trouble anybody that's been good to him."

"He 's coming now. I hear Sanch barking at the squirrels!" cried Bab,
standing up to get a good look down the road.

The man turned quickly, and Betty saw that he breathed fast as he
watched the spot where the low sunshine lay