have lots of goodies in my basket!"
exclaimed she. "You shall eat all you can."

"I haven't eat anything since yesterday noon," replied Harry, as he
took a handful of doughnuts she handed him.

"Sit down on this rock, and do eat all you want. I never knew what it
was to be very hungry."

Harry seated himself, and proceeded to devour the food the
sympathizing little maiden had given him, while she looked on with
astonishment and delight as he voraciously consumed cake after cake,
without seeming to produce any effect upon the "abhorred vacuum."

CHAPTER IX

IN WHICH HARRY BREAKFASTS ON DOUGHNUTS, AND FINDS THAT ANGELS DO NOT
ALWAYS HAVE WINGS

Harry was very hungry, and the little girl thought he would never have
eaten enough. Since he had told her he had run away, she was deeply
interested in him, and had a hundred questions to ask; but she did not
wish to bother him while he was eating, he was so deeply absorbed in
the occupation.

"What a blessed thing doughnuts are!" laughed she, as Harry leveled on
the sixth cake. "I never thought much of them before, but I never
shall see a doughnut again without thinking of you."

Our hero was perfectly willing to believe that doughnuts were a very
beneficent institution; but just then he was too busily occupied to be
sentimental over them.

"What is your name, little girl?" asked Harry as he crammed half of
the cake into his mouth.

"I have a great mind not to tell you, because you wouldn't tell me
what yours is," replied she, roguishly.

"You see how it is with me. I have run away from--well, from
somewhere."

"And you are afraid I will tell? I won't though. But, as you killed
the snake, I shall tell you. My name is Julia Bryant."

"Mine is Harry West," replied he, unable to resist the little lady's
argument. "You must not tell any one about me for three days, for then
I shall be out of the way."

"Where are you going, Harry?"

"To Boston."

"Are you? They say that none but bad boys run away. I hope you are not
a bad boy." And Julia glanced earnestly at the fugitive.

"I don't think I am."

"I don't think you are, either."

It was a hearty endorsement, and Harry's heart warmed as she spoke.
The little maiden was not more than nine or ten years old, but she
seemed to have some skill in reading faces; at least, Harry thought
she had. Whatever might be said of himself, he was sure she was a good
girl. In short, though Harry had never read a novel