a lot of such truck in here," he told them. "So, in case I get
hungry, I can find a bite to eat. Do you like sardines or canned salmon
best?"

"Sardines!" exclaimed both the girls.

"That settles it. We haven't any ice, or we could have some lemonade.
We'd better have chocolate. What do you say?"

"It would be very nice, but we have no fire."

"Fire enough. See here." He turned on the gas, and lighted a little
stove over which the chocolate was made, condensed milk being at hand
for use.

"Now, let me see. I've some ginger-snaps somewhere, and some marmalade.
This is rather a mixed meal, I am thinking, but it will keep us from
starving."

"I should think so," said Florence, surveying the table. "I think it is
fine."

"And we can wash the dishes afterward. Will you let us?" asked Dimple.

"I shall be charmed to have you," Mr. Atkinson assured her. "It was one
of the points upon which I felt uncertain. I confess to disliking, very
much, that part of the business; and now you relieve my anxiety."

They made a merry meal of it, and became very well acquainted with their
host before it was over. He told them funny stories and kept them
laughing so that they were a long time getting their appetites
satisfied, and as it had become much cooler, Bubbles appeared with wraps
for them before they had finished with the dishes.

"We have had such a lovely, lovely time," said Dimple, as she raised a
beaming face to Mr. Atkinson. "You know just what to do to make little
girls have a good time, don't you?"

He stooped and kissed her. "I had a little girl once," he replied,
gravely.

Dimple put her two arms closely around his neck. She felt so very, very
sorry when she remembered pretty little Stella. "I'd like to be your
little girl, if I had to be any one's but papa's and mamma's," she
whispered.

"Thank you, dear child, I appreciate that. It is a very great
compliment," he answered, slowly. "I want you two little girls to come
over whenever you can. I am always here on Saturday afternoons. Will you
come to see me often?"

"If mamma will let us. I'm afraid maybe she will not, because we were
naughty about coming when we had no right to."

"Well, we'll see how we can manage it. I will tell your father about
it, myself, or, better still, I will walk home with you, and you can
tell your story to your mother, and let me beg pardon for you. How will
that do?"

Dimple's eyes spoke her thanks, and she turned to Florence