nd his eyes
lock terribly straight at one. I think we'll take him, father?"

Her voice rose in a question, but it took Buck just two seconds to
know she need not have asked it. The great surgeon would have taken
an elephant if she had expressed a liking for it.

"Keep on the right side of her and you'll stand in wid de old man,"
whispered the boy next to him.

"Don't yer t'ink I sees dat?" sneered Buck. "Yer must t'ink I lef' my
h'yes in Lunnon." And the shrewd young street arab arose to his feet,
touched his cap with his forefinger, and said:

"H'all right, sir; I 'opes I'll suit."

That was the beginning of it, yet, notwithstanding Buck had made up his
mind that whatever happened he would _make_ himself "suit," still he met
with a serious discouragement the very next morning, when his unwilling
ears overheard a conversation between the surgeon and the stableman. The
latter was saying:

"I hope you will excuse me speaking, Doctor, but I think you've made a
mistake getting this here green Barnardo boy to help with the horses.
They never do know nothin', those English boys, and you can't teach
'em."

"Well," hesitated the doctor, "we'll have to give him a trial, I
suppose. Miss Connie took a fancy to him."

"Oh, _Miss Connie_, was it?" repeated the stableman, in quite another
tone. "Then that settles it, sir." And it did.

"So I owes dis 'ere 'ome to 'Miss Connie,' does I?" remarked Buck to
himself. "Den if dis is so, I's good for payin' of her fer it." Only
he pronounced "pay" "py."

But it was a long two years before the boy got any chance to "py" her
for her kindness, and when the chance did come, he would have given his
sturdy young life to avert it. By this time, much mixing with Canadians
had blunted his London street-bred accent. To be sure he occasionally
slipped an "h," or inserted one where it should not be, but he was fast
swinging into line with the great young country he now called "home."
He could eat Indian corn and maple syrup, he could skate, toboggan, and
ply a paddle, he could handle a horse as well as Watkins, the stableman,
who was heard on several occasions to remark that he could not get along
without the boy.

In the holidays, when Miss Connie was home from school, Buck was
frequently allowed to drive her, or sit in his cream and brown livery
beside her while she drove herself. These were always great occasions,
for no refined feminine being had ever come into his life before. If
he