children. Now the white August lilies were standing up sweet and tall
by the garden fence.

"Seems like we've been here 'most always," said Steven as they rustled
around in the hay hunting eggs. His face had lost its expression of
sadness, so pathetic in a child, as day after day Robin's little feet
pattered through the old homestead, and no one came to take him away.

Active outdoor life had put color in his face and energy into his
movements. Mr. Dearborn and his wife were not exacting in their
demands, although they found plenty for him to do. The work was all
new and pleasant, and Robin was with him everywhere. When he fed the
turkeys, when he picked up chips, when he drove the cows to pasture,
or gathered the vegetables for market, Robin followed him everywhere,
like a happy, dancing shadow.

[Illustration]

Then when the work was done there were the kittens in the barn and the
swing in the apple-tree. A pond in the pasture sailed their shingle
boats. A pile of sand, left from building the new ice-house,
furnished material for innumerable forts and castles. There was a
sunny field and a green, leafy orchard. How could they _help but be
happy?_ It was summer time and they were together.

Steven's was more than a brotherly devotion. It was with almost the
tenderness of mother-love that he watched the shining curls dancing
down the walk as Robin chased the toads through the garden or played
hide-and-seek with the butterflies.