in Johnny's."

Clemantiny opened her mouth and shut it again. She understood that it
would be a waste of breath to say anything more. If Miss Salome had
made up her mind to put this freckled, determined-looking waif,
dropped on her doorstep from heaven knew where, into Johnny's room,
that was an end of the matter.

"But I'll not be surprised at anything after this," she muttered as
she carried her dishes into the pantry. "First a skinny little urchin
goes and faints on her doorstep. Then she hires him and puts him in
Johnny's room. Johnny's room! Salome Whitney, what _do_ you mean?"

Perhaps Miss Salome hardly knew what she meant. But somehow her heart
went out warmly to this boy. In spite of Clemantiny's sniffs, she held
to the opinion that he looked like Johnny. Johnny was a little nephew
of hers. She had taken him to bring up when his parents died, and she
had loved him very dearly. He had died four years ago, and since that
time the little front room over the front porch had never been
occupied. It was just as Johnny had left it. Beyond keeping it
scrupulously clean, Miss Salome never allowed it to be disturbed. And
now a somewhat ragged lad from nowhere was to be put into it! No
wonder Clemantiny shook her head when Miss Salome went up to air it.

* * * * *

Even Clemantiny had to admit that Chester was willing to work. He
split wood until she called him to stop. Then he carried in the
wood-box full, and piled it so neatly that even the grim handmaiden
was pleased. After that, she sent him to the garden to pick the early
beans. In the evening he milked three cows and did all the chores,
falling into the ways of the place with a deft adaptability that went
far to soften Clemantiny's heart.

"He's been taught to work somewheres," she admitted grudgingly, "and
he's real polite and respectful. But he looks too cute by half. And
his name isn't Benson any more than mine. When I called him 'Chester
Benson' out there in the cow-yard, he stared at me fer half a minute
'sif I'd called him Nebuchadnezzar."

When bedtime came, Miss Salome took Chester up to a room whose
whiteness and daintiness quite took away the breath of a lad who had
been used to sleeping in garrets or hired men's kitchen chambers all
his life. Later on Miss Salome came in to see if he was comfortable,
and stood, with her candle in her hand, looking down very kindly at
the thin, shrewd little face on the pillow.

"