res and grimy hands, but all
wonderfully merry and good-natured.

Just then a tired-looking man swung himself down the steps, and stood
looking around him, knitting his brows nervously. He heard the girl's
question, and then her father's reply: "I don't know, my dear, I am
sure; but I'll inquire if you wish."

The man's brows relaxed a little and he answered them without waiting
to be addressed. "They are children sent out by an aid society in the
East. I am taking them to homes in Kansas, mostly in the country."

"You don't mean to tell me," the old gentleman exclaimed in surprise,
"that you have the care of that entire car full of children! How do
you ever manage them all?"

The man grinned. "It does look like a case of the old woman that lived
in a shoe, but there are not as many as it would seem. They can spread
themselves over a good deal of territory, and I'm blessed if some of
'em can't be in half a dozen places at once. There's a little English
girl in the lot--fourteen years or thereabouts--that keeps a pretty
sharp eye on them. Then they're mostly raised to taking care of
themselves." Some one accosted him, and he turned away. Grace looked
up at the bewitching little face, still watching her with eager
interest.

"Poor baby!" she said to herself. "Poor little homeless curly head! If
I could only do something for you!" Then she realized that even the
opportunity she had was slipping away, and held up the box. "Here,
Robin," she called, "take it inside so that you can eat them without
spilling them."

"All of 'em?" he asked with a radiant smile. He stretched out his
dirty, dimpled fingers. "_All_ of 'em," he repeated with satisfaction
as he balanced the box on the sill. "All for Big Brother and me!"

Another face appeared at the window beside Robin's, one very much like
it; grave and sweet, with the same delicate moulding of features.
There was no halo of sunny curls on the finely shaped head, but the
persistent wave of the darker, closely cut hair showed what it had
been at Robin's age. There was no color in the face either. The lines
of the sensitive mouth had a pathetic suggestion of suppressed
trouble. He was a manly-looking boy, but his face was far too sad for
a child of ten.

"Gracie," said Mrs. Estel, "your father said the train will not start
for fifteen minutes. He has gone back to stay with your mother. Would
you like to go through the car with me, and take a look at the little
waifs?"

"