rs. Moss, as they drew round the fire in
the "settin'-room," leaving the tea-things to take care of themselves.

It was not a long story, but a very interesting one to this circle of
listeners; all about the wild life on the plains trading for mustangs,
the terrible kick from a vicious horse that nearly killed Ben, sen., the
long months of unconsciousness in the California hospital, the slow
recovery, the journey back, Mr. Smithers's tale of the boy's
disappearance, and then the anxious trip to find out from Squire Allen
where he now was.

"I asked the hospital folks to write and tell you as soon as I knew
whether I was on my head or my heels, and they promised; but they
didn't; so I came off the minute I could, and worked my way back,
expecting to find you at the old place. I was afraid you'd have worn out
your welcome here and gone off again, for you are as fond of travelling
as your father."

"I wanted to sometimes, but the folks here were so dreadful good to me I
couldn't," confessed Ben, secretly surprised to find that the prospect
of going off with Daddy even cost him a pang of regret, for the boy had
taken root in the friendly soil, and was no longer a wandering
thistle-down, tossed about by every wind that blew.

"I know what I owe 'em, and you and I will work out that debt before we
die, or our name isn't B.B.," said Mr. Brown, with an emphatic slap on
his knee, which Ben imitated half unconsciously as he exclaimed
heartily,--

"That's so!" adding, more quietly, "What are you going to do now? Go
back to Smithers and the old business?"

"Not likely, after the way he treated you, Sonny. I've had it Out with
him, and he won't want to see me again in a hurry," answered Mr. Brown,
with a sudden kindling of the eye that reminded Bab of Ben's face when
he shook her after losing Sancho.

"There's more circuses than his in the world; but I'll have to limber
out ever so much before I'm good for much in that line," said the boy,
stretching his stout arms and legs with a curious mixture of
satisfaction and regret.

"You've been living in clover and got fat, you rascal," and his father
gave him a poke here and there, as Mr. Squeers did the plump Wackford,
when displaying him as a specimen of the fine diet at Do-the-boys Hall.
"Don't believe I could put you up now if I tried, for I haven't got my
strength back yet, and we are both out of practice. It's just as well,
for I've about made up my mind to quit the busine