lad, no less than in his face and
eyes, Mr. Howitt read his story. Unconsciously he echoed the words
of Mr. Matthews, "Poor Pete."

The dog lifted his head and looked into the man's face, while his
tail wagged a joyful greeting, and, as the man stooped to pat the
animal and speak a few kind words, a beautiful smile broke over
the delicate features of the youth. Throwing himself upon the
ground, he cried, "Come here, Brave"; and taking the dog's face
between his hands, said in confidential tones, ignoring Mr.
Howitt's presence, "He's a good man, ain't he, brother?" The dog
answered with wagging tail. "We sure like him, don't we?" The dog
gave a low bark. "Listen, Brave, listen." He lifted his face to
the tree tops, then turned his ear to the ground, while the dog,
too, seemed to hearken. Again that strange smile illuminated his
face; "Yes, yes, Brave, we sure like him. And the tree things like
him, too, brother; and the flowers, the little flower things that
know everything; they're all a singin' to Pete 'cause he's come.
Did you see the flower things in his eyes, and hear the tree
things a talkin' in his voice, Brave? And see, brother, the sheep
like him too!" Pointing toward the stranger, he laughed aloud. The
old ewe had come quite close to the man, and one of the lambs was
nibbling at his trousers' leg.

Mr. Howitt seated himself on the stile again, and the dog,
released by the youth, came to lie down at his feet; while the boy
seemed to forget his companions, and appeared to be listening to
voices unheard by them, now and then nodding his head and moving
his lips in answer.

The old man looked long and thoughtfully at the youth, his own
face revealing a troubled mind. This then was Pete, Poor Pete.
"Howard," whispered the man; "the perfect image;" then again he
said, half aloud, "Howard."

The boy turned his face and smiled; "That ain't his name, Mister;
his name's Pete. Pete seen you yesterday over on Dewey, and Pete
he heard the big hills and the woods a singin' when you talked.
But Jed he didn't hear. Jed he don't hear nothin' but himself; he
can't. But Pete he heard and all Pete's people, too. And the gray
mist things come out and danced along the mountain, 'cause they
was so glad you come. And Pete went with you along the Old Trail.
Course, though, you didn't know. Do you like Pete's people,
Mister?" He waved his hands to include the forest, the mountains
and the sky; and there was a note of anxiety in t