ed doggedly.

At that moment a clear childish voice called from somewhere below the
lane:

"Romanzo--Romanzo!"

The boy started guiltily. "I've got to go, Champ; she wants me."

Champney seized him with a strong hand by the suspenders. "Here, hold
on! Who, you gump?"

"The girl--le' me go." But Champney gripped him fast.

"No, you don't, Roman; let her yell."

"Ro--man--zo-o-o-o!" The range of this peremptory call was two octaves
at least.

"By gum--she's up to something, and Tave won't stand any more
fooling--le' me go!" He writhed in the strong grasp.

"I won't either. I haven't been half-back on our team for nothing; so
stand still." And Romanzo stood still, perforce.

Another minute and Aileen came running up the lane. She was wearing the
same heavy shoes, the same dark blue cotton dress, half covered now with
a gingham apron--Mrs. Champney had not deemed it expedient to furnish a
wardrobe until the probation period should have decided her for or
against keeping the child. She was bareheaded, her face flushed with the
heat and her violent exercise. She stopped short at a little distance
from them so soon as she saw that Romanzo was not alone. She tossed back
her braid and stamped her foot to emphasize her words:

"Why didn't yer come, Romanzo Caukins, when I cried ter yer!"

"'Coz I couldn't; he wouldn't let me." He spoke anxiously, making signs
towards the shed. But Aileen ignored them; ignored, also, the fact that
any one was present besides her slave.

Champney answered for himself. He promptly bared his head and advanced
to shake hands; but Aileen jerked hers behind her.

"I'm Mr. Champney Googe, at your service. Who are you?"

The little girl was sizing him up before she accepted the advance;
Champney could tell by the "East-side" look with which she favored him.

"I'm Miss Aileen Armagh, and don't yer forget it!--at your service." She
mimicked him so perfectly that Champney chuckled and Romanzo doubled up
in silent glee.

"I sha'n't be apt to, thank you. Come, let's shake hands, Miss Aileen
Armagh-and-don't-yer-forget-it, for we've got to be friends if you're to
stay here with my aunt." He held out both hands. But the little girl
kept her own obstinately behind her and backed away from him.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"'Coz they're all stuck up with spruce gum and Octavius said nothing
would take it off but grease, and--" she turned suddenly upon Romanzo,
blazing out upon him in her wrat