The girls all liked him. Of course, Aunt Sarah, who was very odd, when
she came to table did not speak to the boy, and she glared at him
whenever he helped himself to one of Mrs. MacCall's light biscuit. But
the housekeeper appreciated the compliment he gave her cooking.

"I guess I don't make such bad biscuit after all," she said. "Sometimes
you girls eat so little at breakfast that I've thought my days for hot
bread making were over."

Neale blushed and stopped eating almost at once. Although frank to admit
his poverty, he did not like to make a display of his appetite.

Ruth had been thinking seriously of the proposition, and after breakfast
she told Neale that he might remain at the old Corner House--and
welcome--until he found just the place he desired.

"But I must pay you," said the boy, earnestly.

"We don't really need to be paid, Neale," said Ruth, warmly. "There are
so many empty rooms here, you know--and there is always enough for one
more at our table."

"I couldn't stop if I didn't do something to pay you," Neale said,
bluntly. "I'm no beggar."

"I tell you!" Ruth cried, having a happy thought. "You can help us clean
house. We must get it all done before school begins, so as to help Mrs.
MacCall. Uncle Rufus can't beat rugs, and lift and carry, like a younger
person."

"I'll do anything," promised Neale O'Neil. "But first I'll fix that
Irishman's fence so his pig can't root into your yard any more."

He was over at the cobbler's most of the day, but he showed up for the
noon dinner. Ruth had made him promise to come when he was called.

Mrs. MacCall insisted upon heaping his plate with the hearty food.
"Don't tell _me_," she said. "A boy's always hollow clean down to his
heels--and you're pretty tall for your age. It'll take some time to fill
you up properly."

"If I just let myself go, I really _can_ eat," admitted Neale O'Neil.
"And this is so much better cooking than I have been used to."

There it was again! Ruth and Agnes wanted--oh! _so_ much--to ask him
where he had lived, and with whom, that he had never before had proper
food given him. But although Neale was jolly, and free to speak about
everything else, the moment anything was suggested that might lead to
his explaining his previous existence, he shied just like an unbroken
colt.

"Just as if he didn't _have_ any existence at all," complained Agnes,
"before he ran through our side gate this morning, yelling to me to
'hold on.'