ll like it!" she murmured, giving a loving
pat to the spotless, beruffled pillow shams; then her approving eyes
fell upon the "Morning Prayer" hanging at the foot of the bed. "There!
them sweet little cherubs sayin' their prayers is jest the thing fur
the little saint to see when he first wakes ev'ry mornin'. Little
angel!" she finished softly.

On the table in the comer were hymn books, the great red-and-gold
family Bible, and a "Baxter's Saint's Rest"--the only reading matter
suited to Miss Wetherby's conception of the mind behind those soulful
orbs upraised in devout adoration.

Just before Ann started for the station Tommy Green came over to leave
his pet dog, Rover, for Miss Wetherby's "fresh-air" boy to play with.

"Now, Thomas Green," remonstrated Ann severely, "you can take that
dirty dog right home. I won't have him around. Besides, Robert Sawyer
ain't the kind of a boy you be. He don't care fur sech things--I know
he don't."

Half an hour later, Ann Wetherby, her heart thumping loudly against her
ribs, anxiously scanned the passengers as they alighted at Slocumville
Station. There were not many--an old man, two girls, three or four
women, and a small, dirty boy with a dirtier dog and a brown paper
parcel in his arms.

He had not come!

Miss Wetherby held her breath and looked furtively at the small boy.
There was nothing familiar in _his_ appearance, she was thankful to
say! He must be another one for somebody else. Still, perhaps he
might know something about her own angel boy--she would ask.

Ann advanced warily, with a disapproving eye on the dog.

"Little boy, can you tell me why Robert Sawyer did n't come?" she asked
severely.

The result of her cautious question disconcerted her not a little. The
boy dropped the dog and bundle to the platform, threw his hat in the
air, and capered about in wild glee.

"Hi, there. Bones! We're all right! Golly--but I thought we was
side-tracked, fur sure!"

Miss Wetherby sank in limp dismay to a box of freight near by--the
bared head disclosed the clustering brown curls and broad forehead, and
the eyes uplifted to the whirling hat completed the tell-tale picture.

The urchin caught the hat deftly on the back of his head, and pranced
up to Ann with his hands in his pockets.

"Gee-whiz! marm--but I thought you'd flunked fur sure. I reckoned me
an' Bones was barkin' up the wrong tree this time. It looked as if
we'd come to a jumpin'-off place,