miller heard a voice which was not like the others. It was a
baby-voice with tears in it. "I is hungry," it said; and Tom started
up, his eyes wide open, and in the star-glimmer he saw a tiny child
looking at him. Yes, he was awake, and the child was a real child.

"I comed in here," said the little one, "betause the gate was open."

The miller took the little one in his arms and kissed it.

"So you are hungry," he said caressingly. "Well, I must take you home.
What is your name?"

"Dot," said the child; "and home is goned away on wheels, and uncle
don't want me no more."

"Uncle," repeated Tom reflectively. "Then have you no mother or
father, little one?"

"Never had none of these things," said Dot positively. "Some of the
other children had, though," she added, as if for the sake of accuracy.

"What other children?" Tom asked with interest.

"Them as was with us in the van," said Dot.

"Did you live in a van, Dot?" inquired Tom.

"Yes," said the child, "the van as has runned away. There's baskets
and chairs and things all over the top of it. Uncle said he was agoing
to leave me somewhere, and now he's done it."

"How old are you, Dot?"

The child shook her head. "I didn't have no birfdays," she said
wistfully. "Ned and Polly and Jim did, but not me."

"Little Dot," cried Tom, hugging the small creature, "so they wanted to
get rid of you, did they! Well, you shall come home with me; and, Dot,
you shall begin to have birthdays to-morrow!"

"And some bread and dripping to-night--all across the loaf?" Dot asked
anxiously.

"Yes, Dot, lots of times across the loaf if you want it."

"I will sell feather brushes for you," said Dot with enthusiasm.

Tom laughed. He had never laughed before all the summer through.

When Tom and Dot reached the mill it was quite dark, and Dot had to
stand still in the doorway while the miller lit his candle. When the
candle was lit the first thing Dot saw was the little brown mouse
scudding across the table. She clapped her hands with delight, for she
was not a bit afraid of mice. But the noise she made frightened the
mouse, and it ran into its hole and never came out again all that night.

[Illustration: Mouse at mouse-hole]

Tom slept on a heap of flour bags, for you see he had tucked Dot up
snugly in his bed; but he slept soundly and well, for it is not so much
the kind of bed we lie on, as the thoughts we lie down with, that give
us pleasant sleep, an