s in the
country, the room within was clean and orderly, and Nat had no idea of
carrying his mud through the apartment.

Tavia, seeing his predicament, promptly found the broom and began such
a vigorous scraping of the muddy clothes that Nat backed down to a
bench and fell over it.

"There," exclaimed Tavia, "no more will come off, I'm sure."

"So am I," gasped Nat. "I wonder--well, never mind, you brushed me all
right. If ever you want work just let me know."

The woman, who had introduced herself as Mrs. Hardy, was at the door
now, and ordered Nat to come in at once.

"For clothes," she began, "I left out Sam's brand new pair of overalls.
They hain't never been on him, and I thought they'd be better than
anything else for summer. Then there's a clean soft shirt, and you
won't need no coat, as it's a sight too warm to-day for coats. Them
sneak shoes Sam only bought Saturday night. He likes to wear them to
picnics, and there's to be one to-morrow evenin'."

Nat seemed unable to thank the woman. He really felt so miserable,
physically, and so confused mentally, that his usual ready wit forsook
him. But Dorothy could have hugged that dear little woman who was so
kind and thoughtful. Ned was out in the motor car, so Dorothy was the
one in "authority."

"You are so kind," she faltered to Mrs. Hardy, as Nat's muddy heels
lost themselves from view up the box stairs. "I'm sure we cannot thank
you enough."

"Tut, tut," interrupted the woman, busying herself at once about the
little cook stove. "If the same thing happened to my Sam I know you'd
do as much for him. He'll be in to dinner. Maybe you'll see him. I
am proud of Sam. He's all I've got, of course, that makes some
difference."

Ned now brought the machine up to the front of the house. He blew the
horn to attract attention and Tavia ran out.

"Of all the luck," he stammered, trying to talk and laugh at the same
time, "every scrap of our lunch is gone. Dogs, chickens, and maybe a
boy or two took it. At any rate, they did not leave as much as the
basket."

"Oh," gasped Tavia. "Isn't that mean!"

"Rather," answered the boy. "But perhaps we can get some crackers and
milk here. I feel that the pangs of hunger will do something desperate
presently. Nat, I suppose, will get a warm drink, and no doubt
something to make him strong--homemade bread is the usual, I think.
But I may starve," and he looked truly mournful--dinner hour was
"flush" as