t."

"Oh, it was silly. We were both staying with the Brettons; and one day
Miss Joy turned her ankle and I wanted to carry her back to the house,
and she wouldn't let me. Every step she took hurt her a lot, and me
more. I was a spoiled boy. I always did what I wanted to do. It seemed
to me that I wanted to carry her more than anything I'd ever wanted to
do. And she wouldn't let me. So we managed to misunderstand each other
very thoroughly, and then things began to happen--things began to
happen."

The Poor Boy sighed. Then he looked up with a smile and a blush.

"I've always thought," he said, "that if she had let me carry her, I
would have asked her to marry me. Anyway, it's the nearest I ever came
to asking any one."

"And not very near," said Martha, "since she wouldn't be bothered with a
lift."

"She was a good kid," said the Poor Boy. And then, more than half to
himself: "I think I'll have her up for a visit."

"Fwaat!" exclaimed Martha.

"I'll have her stay with some of my make-believe people," he said.
"She'll be the first person to come here that I ever knew before. She
shall stay with--with? I have it, she's a guest of Lord Harrow's
daughter, and they've just moved into Harrow Hall. That's the new
Georgian House, on Lilly Pond...."

"When I was in New York I saw Miss Joy."

"You did!"

"She was prettier than any picture. She come up and give me both hands
and says: 'Why, _Martha_!' And then we talked.--And she never believed
you did it, never!"

"Ah! She might have written!"

"Troubles came on her poor father. He lost his money, and he died. She
lost thought for any one but him."

"Miss Joy--_poor_! How dreadful! How wrong! What is she doing?"

"She's a sort of companion and helper to a rich old woman, and she's
saving her wages against a rainy day."

The Poor Boy was terribly troubled about his old friend. She had been
so generous, so debonair, such a gay and charming spender.

"Oh!" he cried. "Can't I do anything?"

"Once before," said old Martha, "ye tried for to give her a lift, and
you know well what came of it."

His eyes flashed.

"She shall stay at Harrow Hall," he said. "Every day I shall take her
walking, and every day she shall turn her ankle, and I shall carry her
back to her house. And when I find out how poor she is I shall kill an
old uncle of hers in the southwest--she never heard of him--his name is
Eliphalet Pomfret Grey, and he shall leave her a pot of money.--Did s