d Betty burst out laughing when their mother said that, and Ben
gave a faint giggle, as if he would like to join in if he only had the
strength to do it. But his legs shook under him, and he felt a queer
dizziness; so he could only hold on to Sancho, and blink at the light
like a young owl.

"Come right along, child. Run on, girls, and put the rest of the broth
to warming, and fill the kettle. I'll see to the boy," commanded Mrs.
Moss, waving off the children, and going up to feel the pulse of her new
charge, for it suddenly occurred to her that he might be sick and not
safe to take home.

The hand he gave her was very thin, but clean and cool, and the black
eyes were clear though hollow, for the poor lad was half-starved.

"I'm awful shabby, but I ain't dirty. I had a washin' in the rain last
night, and I've jest about lived on water lately," he explained,
wondering why she looked at him so hard.

"Put out your tongue."

He did so, but took it in again to say quickly,--

"I ain't sick,--I'm only hungry; for I haven't had a mite but what
Sanch brought, for three days; and I always go halves, don't I, Sanch?"

The poodle gave a shrill bark, and vibrated excitedly between the door
and his master as if he understood all that was going on, and
recommended a speedy march toward the promised food and shelter. Mrs.
Moss took the hint, and bade the boy follow her at once and bring his
"things" with him.

"I ain't got any. Some big fellers took away my bundle, else I wouldn't
look so bad. There's only this. I'm sorry Sanch took it, and I'd like to
give it back if I knew whose it was," said Ben, bringing the new
dinner-pail out from the depths of the coach where he had gone to
housekeeping.

"That's soon done; it's mine, and you're welcome to the bits your queer
dog ran off with. Come along, I must lock up," and Mrs. Moss clanked her
keys suggestively.

Ben limped out, leaning on a broken hoe-handle, for he was stiff after
two days in such damp lodgings, as well as worn out with a fortnight's
wandering through sun and rain. Sancho was in great spirits, evidently
feeling that their woes were over and his foraging expeditions at an
end, for he frisked about his master with yelps of pleasure, or made
playful darts at the ankles of his benefactress, which caused her to
cry, "Whish!" and "Scat!" and shake her skirts at him as if he were a
cat or hen.

A hot fire was roaring in the stove under the broth-skillet and
te