ed to understand her better, and he went and sat
beside her on the step. He took her hand and tried to fondle it, but, as
if ashamed of her weakness, she drew it away and continued to sob,
swallow, and quiver.

"I see, you don't want your brother John to go away. Is that it, kid?"

"Yes," she muttered, nodded, and then remained silent, her face tightly
covered by her hands.

He stood up. He went to the fence and took some steps along it
irresolutely. Suddenly he stood facing her, his arms folded as Cavanaugh
had seen him stand studying the masonry he was building, an arch, a
pillar, or cornice.

"Why haven't I thought of it before?" he reflected. "It would be a crime
to leave the poor little mouse over there. She doesn't know what is in
store for her, but her eyes will be opened some day, as mine are,
and--and what has come to me may come to her. And who knows? It might
hurt the poor little mite every bit as bad. I wonder if she-- I
wonder--" He went back and sat by her side.

"Listen, Dora," he began. "I've got to go--there is no way out of
it--but I don't want to leave you like this. I didn't know till to-day
how much I care for you. You seem, somehow, like a real sister. Say,
I'll tell you--how about this? Come, go with me. I don't know where yet,
but away off somewhere where we can start out right. I want to send you
to school and give you a chance."

"Oh, you don't mean it--you _can't_ mean _that_!" and she uncovered her
face and sat staring, her quivering lips parted. Impulsively she put
one of her hands against his breast, and with the other slowly wiped her
wet eyes.

"Yes, I mean it, and there is no time to lose," he went on, gravely. "I
want it settled, and when we are once on that train all this will be cut
out forever. It will be better for me, and for you, and for Tilly."

"But Aunt Jane--" Dora faltered, letting her hand slide slowly down his
shirt-front till it lay in her lap. "She needs me and--"

"You will have to leave her for good and all," he said. "You must decide
between her and me. At any rate, she is doing nothing for you, and I am
willing to work for you. It is odd, kid, but, now I come to think of it,
I want you with me. It seems like leaving would be easier along with
you."

"I don't know what to do," the world-old child said, undecidedly, but
her eyes were dry, the sobs had left her voice.

"Then do as I say," he threw out firmly. "Go home and get your best
dress on and your sho