down the slide.

Nobody knew what had become of his own old beaver hat, but a light
colored derby, which the _chef_ had loaned him, sat rakishly over one
ear, in size too small for the whole top of his bald head.

"Looks as if he had two foreheads!" said Winifred, who couldn't help
laughing at his comical appearance, with part of his baldness showing
at front and back of the borrowed hat.

Dorothy laughed, too, yet felt a guilty regret at the way she had
spoken to him. She had accused him of "trying to kill her" as well as
Gwen and little Grace; but he "kill anything"? Wicked, even to say
that.

"There goes John Gilpin, and, girls, I must speak to him. Come--I
can't let him go that way!"

As his "good foot" crossed the threshold Dorothy's hand was on his
shoulder and her voice begging:

"Oh! please, Mr. Gilpin! Do forgive that horrible thing I said! I
didn't know, I didn't understand, I didn't mean it--I thought--it
looked--Do come back just a minute and let me explain."

The old fellow turned and gazed into her pleading eyes, but at first
scarcely heard her.

"Why, 'tis the little maid! hersel' that was cryin' that night on the
big railway platform. The night that Robin lad was anigh kilt.
Something's mixed up in me head. What's it, lassie, you want?"

"I want your forgiveness, Mr. Gilpin. When I saw Gracie on the floor
and the broken pot beside her I thought--you'd--you'd tried--and
account of your sled hitting Gwen and me--Do come in and rest. You're
worse hurt than anybody thought, I'm afraid. There, there, that's
right. Come back and rest till the team goes into town for the
Saturday night's supplies. It always goes you know, and Michael will
get the driver to drop you at your own door. I'm sure he will."

Obediently, he allowed her to lead him back into the hall and to seat
him on the settle beside the radiator. The warmth of that and the
comfort of three sympathetic girls soon restored his wandering wits
and he was as ready to talk as they to listen.

"You do forgive, don't you, dear old John?"

"Sure, lassie, there's nought about forgiveness, uther side. It was a
bit misunderstandin' was all. The wee woman a-pleadin' for treats out
of pocket, and me thinkin' hard o' Robin, for coaxin' an old man to
make a fool of hissel'. Me feeling that minute as if 'twas all his
fault and thinking I'd cherished a snake, a reptile, in my buzzum, and
sayin' it out loud, likes I have a bad habit of doing.

"Silly