Before Bab could conjecture, the sound of a step and a familiar whistle
made both look expectantly toward the turn in the road, all ready to cry
out with one voice, "How many have you got?" Neither spoke a word,
however, for the figure which presently appeared was not Ben, but a
stranger,--a man who stopped whistling, and came slowly on, dusting his
shoes in the way-side grass, and brushing the sleeves of his shabby
velveteen coat as if anxious to freshen himself up a bit.

"It's a tramp, let's run away," whispered Betty, after a hasty look.

"I aint afraid," and Bab was about to assume her boldest look when a
sneeze spoiled it, and made her clutch the gate to hold on.

At that unexpected sound the man looked up, showing a thin, dark face,
with a pair of sharp, black eyes, which surveyed the little girls so
steadily that Betty quaked, and Bab began to wish she had at least
jumped down inside the gate.

"How are you?" said the man with a good-natured nod and smile, as if to
re-assure the round-eyed children staring at him.

"Pretty well, thank you, sir," responded Bab, politely nodding back at
him.

"Folks at home?" asked the man, looking over their heads toward the
house.

"Only Ma; all the rest are gone to be married."