cept for the paler crescent of the bow window giving
onto the street. With a crash of thunder all but drowning out his
words, the boy shouted in the emptiness of the shop as he poured the
rosy liquid on the figure made of wood.

And then, appalled at his audacity, Chris dropped the phial which
splintered on the floor. Watching there in the darkness, he shook so
with nerves that he had to kneel.

For in the blackness lit only by the lightning and its own eerie glow,
the wood was changing as he watched.

It was as if the stiffness melted. Under his eyes the wooden folds of
cloth became rich silk, embroidery gleamed in its reality upon the
coat, and oh! the face! The wooden grin loosened, the large eyes
turned, the hand holding the hard bouquet of carved flowers moved, and
let the bouquet fall. The feet of the boy twitched and shifted in
their pointed shoes.

[Illustration]

Aghast, Chris remained frozen as the boy moved slowly, and a final
_Boom!_ of thunder seemed to split the sky apart. Outside, the rain
poured down as if over some skyward dam.

The boy looked down at Chris with a radiant smile and put out his
hand.

"I'll help you up," he said to the kneeling boy in front of him. "I am
Amos."

And as they turned, the light and the dark hands holding firm, the
firelight was streaming from the distant door and Mr. Wicker waited.

CHAPTER 11

From that time on Chris and Amos were inseparable, with the exception
of those times when Chris studied alone with Mr. Wicker. Amos, during
these hours, soon endeared himself to Becky Boozer, to whom he became
invaluable, for he took over those chores Chris had undertaken as his
share. These consisted of carrying water, peeling potatoes, or
watching the roasting meat in case it should burn. For Chris had less
and less time for such jobs, and Amos's laughter and willing happy
nature soon made Becky spoil him as much as she did Chris.

Another cot was put into Chris's room, and night after night they
would hang out the two mansard windows, watching what went on below
until it was too dark to see. Or else they would talk by the light of
their candle until they fell asleep.

Chris now knew how lonely he had been until he set Amos free from his
wooden shroud, but, warned by Mr. Wicker, he did not tell his new
friend that he came from another year as yet unreached by the time
they lived in.

"It is enough for a while," cautioned Mr. Wicker, "that Amos get used
to