away with his plumy tail curled over
his back.

Ben started as the cold nose touched his fingers, gave the soft head a
lingering pat, and watched the dog out of sight through a thicker mist
than any the rain made. But Bab broke down; for the wistful look of the
creature's eyes reminded her of lost Sancho, and she sobbed quietly as
she glanced back longing to see the dear old fellow jogging along in the
rear.

Ben heard the piteous sound and took a sly peep over his shoulder,
seeing such a mournful spectacle that he felt appeased, saying to
himself as if to excuse his late sternness,--

"She is a naughty girl, but I guess she is about sorry enough now. When
we get to that sign-post I'll speak to her, only I won't forgive her
till Sanch comes back."

But he was better than his word; for, just before the post was reached,
Bab, blinded by tears, tripped over the root of a tree, and, rolling
down the bank, landed in a bed of wet nettles. Ben had her out in a
jiffy, and vainly tried to comfort her; but she was past any consolation
he could offer, and roared dismally as she wrung her tingling hands,
with great drops running over her cheeks almost as fast as the muddy
little rills ran down the road.

"Oh dear, oh dear! I'm all stinged up, and I want my supper; and my feet
ache, and I'm cold, and every thing is so horrid!" wailed the poor child
lying on the grass, such a miserable little wet bunch that the sternest
parent would have melted at the sight.

"Don't cry so, Babby; I was real cross, and I'm sorry. I'll forgive you
right away now, and never shake you any more," cried Ben, so full of
pity for her tribulations that he forgot his own, like a generous little
man.

"Shake me again, if you want to; I know I was very bad to tag and lose
Sanch. I never will any more, and I'm so sorry, I don't know what to
do," answered Bab, completely bowed down by this magnanimity.

"Never mind; you just wipe up your face and come along, and we'll tell
Ma all about it, and she'll fix us as nice as can be. I shouldn't wonder
if Sanch got home now before we did," said Ben, cheering himself as well
as her by the fond hope.

"I don't believe I ever shall. I'm so tired my legs won't go, and the
water in my boots makes them feel dreadfully. I wish that boy would
wheel me a piece. Don't you s'pose he would? asked Bab, wearily picking
herself up as a tall lad trundling a barrow came out of a yard near by.

"Hullo, Joslyn!" said Ben, r