And this last word seemed to link in his mind his escape from the
complaint of his loneliness and the by-path down which he did not turn;
and he was so long trying to unravel the mystery of the connection that
before he knew it he had almost stumbled into quite a bog, and there,
in front of him, sat a wee child,--just where two roads met,--and he
had well-nigh run over her in his carelessness.

"Oh, bother!" said he,--for he was irritated at the thought of having
only so narrowly escaped doing himself serious damage,--"what do you
get in a fellow's way for? You--" But the poor little mite gazed up
at him so sadly, and wept so piteously at his hasty words that he
paused suddenly and did not go on.

He looked down the two paths. The one was wide and curving, the other
narrow and straight; the one was bordered with rich foliage, the other
was bare and sandy. He might have run lightly along the one, he would
have to toil wearisomely along the other. What wonder that his foot
was turning in the direction of the first! But a queer pricking in his
bosom and the child's cry stopped him.

He slowly drew forth his rule and began to measure, while the little
one sobbed,--

"I 'm so told I tan't walt any more. My foots are all tired out, and I
want sumpin to eat;" and there he found himself just on the verge of
making a fearful blunder. He got up from his knees and turning to the
tiny maid, said kindly,--

"There, there! don't cry, dear! We 'll fix you all right;" and he
stripped off his jacket and wrapped it about her, taking her in his