ine!" A loud voice cut across her meditative
silence. She shrugged her shoulders stubbornly and put her finger on
her lip. The boy shook his head.

"You better go," he said soothingly. "You'll have to sometime, you
know. Here, take these," as she jumped up, forgetting the fork and
the salt-shaker. "Be sure to put 'em back where you got 'em, won't
you?"

"Oh, leave 'em here. I'll come back," she said carelessly, but the
boy insisted.

"No, you take 'em right now," he commanded. "I wouldn't want any
mistake made."

"Just wait a minute--I'll come back," she repeated, as the call
sounded again.

"Caroline! where are you?"

The boy stood up, holding out the silver. "You--you don't want 'em
to say I--I took 'em?" he blurted out.

Her eyes opened wide; she looked all the incredulous horror she
felt.

"Steal?" she cried, "with a dog like that?"

He nodded. "That's the way I look at it, but some don't," he said
shortly. "You better go now. Much obliged for the breakfast. If I
come back this way, maybe I'll stop in again, if you'd like to see
William Thayer."

"I think she went across behind the stable, Miss Carrie," Katy
called helpfully.

Caroline thrust the silver into her pocket and turned to go.

"I'm coming!" she cried desperately, and, patting William Thayer,
she took a few backward steps.

"There's a nice brook in those woods," she observed irrelevantly,
"if you should want to take another nap," and, turning her back
resolutely, she rounded the barn and disappeared.

The boy picked up the empty plate and slipped it into a door at the
back of the stable. Then, lifting the dog over the nearest fence, he
climbed it and stepped through the next yard into the street.

"That was a mighty nice little girl, William Thayer," he said
thoughtfully. "She seemed to understand a lot, for such a little
one."

Caroline stalked aggressively into the dining-room, and finding it
for the moment empty, hastily replaced the salt-shaker. The fork she
laid in the pantry. Hardly was her pocket clear of the telltale
stuff when her aunt appeared before her.

"I suppose you know you're late for school, Caroline," she began,
with evident self-control. "If you think I am going to write you an
excuse, you are very much mistaken."

"All right," Caroline returned laconically. "Is my lunch ready?"

"It was nothing in the world but that dog; I cannot understand the
fascination that tramps and loafers have for you! You never got