presented a picture of
chivalrous attention as they stood regarding me.

"But what will your mother say?" I asked of my small human attendant
with conscientious contention against my desire to take them both with
me on out of the dirt and heat and flies and other swarming young humans
up into the coolness and shade and--loneliness--of my own life.

"She groceries all day and has to forget me," he answered calmly. "You
can bring me back to bed when she is through." And to this plea was
added a pathetic wag of the brindle tail.

"Well, I'll take you up as far as Mother Spurlock's and give you both a
tea cake," I capitulated as I started again up the street of the
Settlement towards the haven of the Town.

And as my escort and I progressed through the Settlement I could see the
most violent signs of interest being manifested in all of us. Dirty,
sweaty women, with their sleeves rolled up, came to the doors to look at
us, and as I greeted them one and all with a nod they smiled back with
pleased astonishment. I had never been down in the Settlement before,
but most of them spoke to me by name and one toothless old woman hastily
broke off a bloom from a struggling geranium, came to her rickety gate
and offered it to me with an admiring smile.

"Bless my soul, Miss Charlotte, be you a-kidnappin' Martha's Stray?" she
asked, as I accepted it with enthusiasm.

"He and the dog are kidnapping me as far as Mother Spurlock's, and then
they'll let me go and come back," I answered, with a laugh, as we
started on. Not once had the strong little fingers let go of my hand as
we stood and talked and they only held the closer as we started climbing
the long, hot dusty hill to the Little House by the Side of the Road.
But in the long climb not once did the sturdy little legs lag or the
small arm drag on my strength. The clasp was one of equality and
affectionate attraction, not of dependence.

CHAPTER XIII

THE SHORT-CIRCUIT

And at last we arrived at the old snowball guarding the open gate of the
Little House and we went under its low boughs and up the walk. But we
did not march to an undisputed and stealthy raid on the tea cake box
above the kitchen table. The Little House was no longer the deserted
scene I had left it, but was teeming with human and juvenile activities
which streamed out to meet us at the door.

"You can't come in here, Auntie Charlotte," was the command that greeted
me at the very doorstep as young C