ed his
best suit of dyed homespun, tied his few remaining articles of clothing
in a large red kerchief, and before a bit of mirror arranged his tie and
hair to look as like as possible to the village youth of Farington. The
distinguishing silken lock that would fall over his brow had grown
again, since he had shorn it away in Doctor Thryng's cabin. Now he
thrust it well up under his soft felt hat, and, taking his bundle,
descended. Again his eyes searched up and down the street and all about
the house and yard before he ventured out in the daylight.

Dorothy and her dog came bounding down the kitchen steps. She carried
two great fried cakes in her little hands, warm from the hot fat, and
she laughed with glee as she danced toward him.

"Frale, Frale. I stole these, I did, for you. I told Carrie I wanted two
for you, an' she said 'G'long, chile.'" She thrust them in his hands.

"What's the matter, Frale? What you all dressed up for? This isn't
Sunday, Frale. Is they going to be a circus, Frale, is they?" She poured
forth her questions rapidly, as she hopped from one foot to the other.
"Will you take me, Frale, if it's a circus? I'll ask mamma. I want to
see the el'phant."

"'Tain't no circus," he replied grimly.

"What's the matter, Frale? Don't you like your fried cakes? Then why
don't you eat them? What you wrapping them up for? You ought to say
thank you, when I bring you nice cakes 'at I went an' stole for you,"
she remonstrated severely.

His throat worked convulsively as he stood, now looking at the child,
now watching the street. Suddenly he lifted her in his arms and buried
his face in her gingham apron.

"I had a little sister oncet, only she's growed up now, an' she hain't
my little sister any more." He kissed her brown cheek tenderly, even as
David had done, and set her gently down on her two stubby feet. "You run
in an' tell yer maw thank you, fer me, will ye? Mind, now. Listen at me
whilst I tell you what to tell yer paw an' maw fer me. Say, 'Frale seen
a houn' dog on his scent, an' he's gone home to git shet of him.'"

"Where's the 'houn' dog,' Frale?" She gazed fearfully about.

"He's gone now. He won't bite--not you, he won't."

"Oh, Frale! I wish it was a circus."

"Yas," drawled the young man, with a sullen smile curling his lips, "may
be hit be a sort of a circus. Kin ye remember what I tol' you to tell
yer paw?"

"You--you seen a houn' dog on--on a cent--how could he be on a cent?"

"S