faced about, and walked down the sidewalk and away.

Miss Morgan and Bud watched the North End woman and her son depart.
Miss Morgan turned to Bud, and spoke spiritedly: "Now, Henry, don't
ever have anything to do with that kind of trash again. Now, you won't
forget, will you, Henry?"

[Illustration: "_Now, Henry, don't ever have anything to do with that
kind of trash again_."]

Bud examined his toes carefully, and replied, "No 'm."

In the threshold she put her hand on the boy's shoulder, and
continued: "Now, don't you mind about it, Henry. They sha'n't touch
you. You come and wash, and we'll have supper."

When a boy has a woman for a champion, if he is wise, he trusts her to
any length. So Bud went to the kitchen, picked up the water-bucket,
and went to the well, partly to keep from displaying a gathering wave
of affection for his foster-mother, and partly to let the magnificence
of the wood-box burst upon her in his absence. When he returned, he
found Miss Morgan pointing toward the wood-box and beaming upon him.
Bud grinned, and fished in his pocket for the coin.

[Illustration: "_Here's a dollar I got for ridin' the trick mule.... I
thought it would be nice for the missionary society_."]

"Here's a dollar I got for ridin' the trick mule," he faltered. "I
thought it would be nice for the missionary society." That he might
check any weak feminine emotions, he turned his attention to the
supper-table, and blurted: "Gee, we're goin' to have pie, ain't we? I
tell you, I'm mighty pie hungry."

[Illustration: "_Gee, we're going to have pie, ain't we_."]

The glow of Miss Morgan's melted heart shone upon her face. Through a
seraphic smile she spoke: "It's apple pie, too, Henry--your kind." As
she put the supper upon the table, she asked: "Did you have a good
time at the circus, Henry?"

The boy nodded vehemently, and said: "You bet!" and then went on,
after a pause, "I guess I tore my pants a little gettin' off of that
mule; but I thought you'd like the dollar."

It was the finest speech he could make. "I guess I can mend them,
Henry," she answered; and then she asked, with her face in the
cupboard, "Sha'n't we try some of the new strawberry preserves,
Henry?"

As she was opening the jar she concluded that Henry Perkins was an
angel--a conclusion which, in view of the well-known facts, was
manifestly absurd.

[Illustration]

"THE HERB CALLED HEARTS-EASE"

Did you hear him? I dare say that boy l