sition was a welcome one, and Peggy stepped out of the back door to
interview the dealer. A boy in nondescript costume, with a brimless
straw hat on the back of his head, held up a string of fish without
speaking.

"Yes, I think I'll like them if they're fresh and cheap," said Peggy
firmly, resolved to be business-like.

It appeared that the fish had been caught that morning and the price
impressed Peggy as extremely reasonable. She was about to conclude the
bargain when Priscilla's echoing whisper summoned her to the screen
door.

"Peggy, tell him we'll buy fish of him several times a week if he'll
clean them. Fish scales are so messy and awful."

Peggy thought well of the proposition, and the young fisherman offered
no objection. With a grunt of acquiescence he seated himself on the
steps, pulled out his pocket knife and began operations. Then as Hobo
took his stand where he could view proceedings, the boy turned abruptly
to Peggy. She saw that his brown eyes were keen, and his features
clear-cut. "Why, if he'd only fix up a little," she thought with
surprise, "he'd be quite nice looking."

"That your dog?" the boy was demanding, and Peggy hesitated, then
laughed as she remembered her conversation with Priscilla.

"He seems to think so," she acknowledged. "He followed me home last
night, and he doesn't have any intention of going away, as far as
anybody can see."

"That dog hasn't had a square deal," said the boy with sudden heat.
"Dogs don't have as a rule, but this one's worse off than most. He used
to belong to some folks who lived on the Drierston pike, raised him from
a puppy they had, and he saved one of the kids from drowning, one time.
More fool he, I say."

Peggy gasped an expostulation. The boy silenced her with a vindictive
gesture of the hand that held the knife.

"You wait till I tell you. Their house burned down and they moved off
and they just left the dog behind, as if he had been rubbish. That was
more'n a year ago. And ever since he's been sneaking and skulking and
stealing his victuals, and been stoned and driven off with whips, and
shot at till it's a wonder he don't go 'round biting everybody he sees."

It was evident that Hobo's lot had been a hard one, and that through no
fault of his own. "Poor fellow," Peggy said, resolving to atone, as far
as a few weeks of kindness could, for that dreadful year of
homelessness. "You seem to like animals," she remarked, finding Hobo's
champion od