Under the Lilacs | Page 8

another; ain't us, old
chap?" answered the boy, with his arm around the dog's neck, and an
anxious look which he had not worn for himself.
"I'm going to take you right home, and wash and feed and put you in a
good bed; and to-morrow, -- well, we'll see what'll happen then," said
Mrs. Moss, not quite sure about it herself.
"You're very kind, ma'am, I'll be glad to work for you. Ain't you got a
horse I can see to?" asked the boy, eagerly.
"Nothing but hens and a cat."
Bab and Betty burst out laughing when their mother said that, and Ben
gave a faint giggle, as if he would like to join in if he only had the
strength to do it. But his legs shook under him, and he felt a queer
dizziness; so he could only hold on to Sancho, and blink at the light
like a young owl.
"Come right along, child. Run on, girls, and put the rest of the broth to
warming, and fill the kettle. I'll see to the boy," commanded Mrs. Moss,
waving off the children, and going up to feel the pulse of her new
charge, for it suddenly occurred to her that he might be sick and not
safe to take home.
The hand he gave her was very thin, but clean and cool, and the black
eyes were clear though hollow, for the poor lad was half-starved.
"I'm awful shabby, but I ain't dirty. I had a washin' in the rain last night,
and I've jest about lived on water lately," he explained, wondering why
she looked at him so hard.
"Put out your tongue."

He did so, but took it in again to say quickly, --
"I ain't sick, -- I'm only hungry; for I haven't had a mite but what Sanch
brought, for three days; and I always go halves, don't I, Sanch?"
The poodle gave a shrill bark, and vibrated excitedly between the door
and his master as if he understood all that was going on, and
recommended a speedy march toward the promised food and shelter.
Mrs. Moss took the hint, and bade the boy follow her at once and bring
his "things" with him.
"I ain't got any. Some big fellers took away my bundle, else I wouldn't
look so bad. There's only this. I'm sorry Sanch took it, and I'd like to
give it back if I knew whose it was," said Ben, bringing the new
dinner-pail out from the depths of the coach where he had gone to
housekeeping.
"That's soon done; it's mine, and you're welcome to the bits your queer
dog ran off with. Come along, I must lock up," and Mrs. Moss clanked
her keys suggestively.
Ben limped out, leaning on a broken hoe-handle, for he was stiff after
two days in such damp lodgings, as well as worn out with a fortnight's
wandering through sun and rain. Sancho was in great spirits, evidently
feeling that their woes were over and his foraging expeditions at an end,
for he frisked about his master with yelps of pleasure, or made playful
darts at the ankles of his benefactress, which caused her to cry,
"Whish!" and "Scat!" and shake her skirts at him as if he were a cat or
hen.
A hot fire was roaring in the stove under the broth-skillet and tea-kettle,
and Betty was poking in more wood, with a great smirch of black on
her chubby cheek, while Bab was cutting away at the loaf as if bent on
slicing her own fingers off. Before Ben knew what he was about, he
found himself in the old rocking-chair devouring bread and butter as
only a hungry boy can, with Sancho close by gnawing a mutton-bone
like a ravenous wolf in sheep's clothing.

While the new-comers were thus happily employed, Mrs. Moss
beckoned the little girls out of the room, and gave them both an errand.
"Bab, you run over to Mrs. Barton's, and ask her for any old duds Billy
don't want; and Betty, you go to the Cutters, and tell Miss Clarindy I'd
like a couple of the shirts we made at last sewing circle. Any shoes, or a
hat, or socks, would come handy, for the poor dear hasn't a whole
thread on him."
Away went the children full of anxiety to clothe their beggar; and so
well did they plead his cause with the good neighbors, that Ben hardly
knew himself when he emerged from the back bedroom half an hour
later, clothed in Billy Barton's faded flannel suit, with an unbleached
cotton shirt out of the Dorcas basket, and a pair of Milly Cutter's old
shoes on his feet.
Sancho also had been put in better trim, for, after his master had