ces away.

[Illustration: _Piggy went to get his flying hat_.]

"H'lo, Miss Morgan; lookin' for old Tom? He's buried off to the right
yonder."

"No, my dear. I want to speak to Henry Perkins," replied the woman,
beaming the kindest of smiles into the guardsman's face. He stepped
from the line between Miss Morgan and the Perkins boy, not sure that
the intruder would find a welcome. Bud was glaring steadfastly at the
earth, between his hands and knees. Piggy said, "Bu-ud?"

"Whut," was the response.

"Miss Morgan wants to talk with you," replied Piggy.

"What's she want?" inquired the Perkins boy, with his head still
between his knees.

Miss Morgan had been coming nearer and nearer to him as the dialogue
had progressed. She was standing in front of Bud when he added, "I
ain't done nothin'."

Miss Morgan bent down and touched his head with her hands. Piggy was
shaking his head warningly at her with much earnestness. He feared
that such a feminine proceeding would anger his comrade. When Miss
Morgan sat upon the ground beside Bud and took one of his hands,
stroking it without the boy's resisting, Piggy Pennington was dumb
with wonder. He could not hear the gentle breaking of the agonizing
lump in the child's throat. Even little Miss Morgan could not see the
tears that had burst over the brims of the orphan's eyes. His face was
averted. She stroked his hand, and snuggled closer to him. Then she
heard a faint whimper, and her heart could stand the strain no longer;
she leaned upon the child's shoulder, and mourned with him. The
Pennington boy did not comprehend it all; but as he looked politely
away from his friends, he felt the moisture in his eyes. He wiped it
away quickly, glancing to see if his weakness had been detected.
The woman recovered in a few moments, and arose with the boy's hand
gripping hers warmly. He had felt her tears through his thin clothing,
and was conquered.

[Illustration: _She stroked his hand and snuggled closer to him_.]

"Come on, Henry; we're going now," said Miss Morgan, and drew the lad
up with her hand.

"Whur to?" asked Bud, who knew the answer instinctively.

"Home," replied the little woman, who knew that the boy knew, and who
was sure that he had consented. "Our home--yours and mine."

The boy arose, still holding her hand, and looked toward the grave
with the flowers strewn over it. He gripped her hand tightly--so
tightly that it pained her--and sobbed, as he faced away fr