o."

"Why do you want to take me home with you?" asked Marjorie, for she
couldn't help a feeling that there was something wrong.

"Why, bless your heart, child, bekase you're alone and forlorn and
hungry and all done out. An' it's my privit opinion as how ye've run
away from home."

"No, not that," said Midget, sadly; "I haven't any home."

"Ye don't say so! Wal, wal, never mind fer to-night. You go 'long with
me, an' Zeb Geary, he'll look after ye fer a spell, anyhow."

There was no mistaking the kindness now, and Marjorie looked up into the
man's red face with trust and gratitude.

"I'd be glad to go with you and stay till to-morrow," she said; "but
first I want to own up that I didn't 'zactly trust you,--but now I do."

"Wal, wal, thet shows a nice sperrit! Now, you come along o' me, an'
don't try to talk nor nothin'. Jest come along."

He took Midget's hand, and they went down the steps, and along the
street for a block or two, to a sort of livery stable.

"Set here a minute," said Mr. Geary, and he left Marjorie on a bench,
which stood outside, against the building.

After a time he returned, with an ancient-looking vehicle, known as a
Rockaway, and a patient, long-suffering horse.

"Git in back," he said, and Marjorie climbed in, too tired and sad to
care much whither she might be taken.

They jogged along at a fair pace, but Mr. Geary, on the front seat,
offered no conversation, merely looking back occasionally, as if to
assure himself that his guest was still with him.

After a mile or two, Marjorie began to think more coherently.

She wondered what she would have done if she hadn't chanced to fall in
with this kind, if rough, friend.

She wondered whether she could ever have reached Grandma Maynard's house
in safety, for the crowds and confusion were much worse than she had
anticipated, and in New York they would be worse still.

At any rate, she would gladly accept shelter and hospitality for the
night, and continue her journey next day, during the earlier hours.

It was well after six o'clock when the jogging old horse turned into a
lane, and finally stopped at a somewhat tumble-down porch. An old woman
appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Wal, Zeb," she called out, "did ye get back?"

"Yes, Sary, an' I brought ye a visitor for the night."

"A what! Wal, I do declar'!" and Mrs. Geary stepped down and peered into
the back seat of the Rockaway. "Who in creation is tha