han ever Brian Kent felt in the presence of Auntie Sue as
a little boy to whom the world had grown suddenly very big and very
wonderful.

But, after a while, he shook his head, smiling wistfully. "No, no,
Auntie Sue, that sounds all true and right enough, but it can't be. I
must go just the same."

"Why can't it be, Brian?"

"For one thing," he returned, "I cannot risk the danger to you. After
all, as long as I am living, there is a chance that my identity will be
discovered, and you--no, no; I must not!"

"As for that," she answered quickly, "the chances of your being
identified are a thousand times greater if you go into the world again
too soon. Some day, of course, you must go; but you are safer now right
here. And"--she added quickly--"it would be no easier for me, dear boy,
to--to--have it happen somewhere away from me. You are mine, you know,
no matter where you go."

"But, Auntie Sue," he protested, "I am not a gentleman of means that I
can do nothing indefinitely; neither am I capable of living upon your
hospitality for an extended period. I must earn my bread and butter."

The final sentence came with such a lifting of his head, such a look
of stern decision, and such an air of pride, that the gentle old
school-teacher laughed until her eyes were filled with tears; and Judy,
at the crack in the kitchen door, wondered if the mistress of the little
log house by the river were losing her mind.

"Oh, Brian! Brian!" cried Auntie Sue, wiping her eyes. "I knew you
would come to the 'bread and butter' at last. That is where all our
philosophies and reasonings and arguments come at last, don't they? Just
'bread and butter,' that is all. And I love you for it. Of course you
can't live upon my hospitality,--and I couldn't let you if you would.
And if you WOULD, I wouldn't let you if I could. I am no more a lady of
means, my haughty sir, than you are a gentleman of independent fortune.
The fact is, Brian, dear, I suspect that you and I are about the two
poorest people in the world,--to be anything like as pretentiously
respectable and properly proud as we are."

When the man could make no reply, but only looked at her with a
much-puzzled and still-proud expression, she continued, half-laughingly,
but well pleased with him: "Please, Brian, don't look so haughtily
injured. I had no intention of insulting you by offering charity. Far
from it."

Instantly, the man's face changed. He put out his hands protestingly,