le he was halting and sweating between these two
opinions, the unknown young man had finished his little colloquy with
the four carpenters, and, by walking fast, had caught up with Pet.

Then the boy Bog decided that his wisest course, under all the
circumstances, would be to follow the couple at a distance, and see that
no harm came to her from the young man.

"If the feller insults her," murmured Bog, "just because he was lucky
enough to do her a little bit of a kindness, I'll lick him till he's
blue." Besides whipping him for the insults which he might offer, Bog
felt that he could give him a few good blows for his impudence in
assuming Bog's exclusive prerogative of rescuing that particular
young girl.

Bog looked very sheepish as he sneaked from one street corner to
another, and skulked in shadows to avoid observation, though he tried to
flatter himself that he was doing something highly meritorious. Two or
three times, when the unknown young man inclined his head toward Pet, as
if to speak to her, Bog entertained a hope that she would command him to
leave her, and that he wouldn't. A single gesture from her, an impatient
shrug of the shoulders, a turning away of her head, would have been all
the hint that Bog needed to fly to her relief, and make up for his lost
opportunity by knocking his dandy rival into the gutter.

But not even Bog's sharp eyes could detect any impudent familiarity in
the young man's conduct, or any desire on the part of Pet to get rid of
him. "Everything is agin' me," said Bog, wiping the perspiration from
his forehead.

When Bog saw Pet part from the young man at Mr. Minford's door, his
first wild idea was to call on her, quite by accident, in the course of
half an hour. Perhaps she would tell him--as a piece of startling
news--about her narrow escape from the board, and what the young man
said to her. But Bog was unequal to the dissimulation involved in this
plan, and abandoned it. Then he had a notion of following the young man,
and seeing what became of him. But a sudden and very decided rising of
fresh blood to Bog's cheeks and ears told him that he had played the
part of spy long enough. So Bog determined--as many grown-up people in
graver dilemmas do--to go home to supper.

Bog found his supper all ready for him, and it was a good one. For his
aunt, although the victim of a chronic rheumatism, had contrived to
preserve a sharp appetite from the wreck of her former health, and
co