boy gave a nod that seemed to say, "Bring on your Cruisers. I'm ready
for 'em."

"Haven't you got any folks?" asked Mrs. Moss, amused but still anxious,
for the sunburnt face was very thin, the eyes hollow with hunger or
pain, and the ragged figure leaned on the wheel as if too weak or weary
to stand alone.

"No, 'm, not of my own; and the people I was left with beat me so, I --
run away." The last words seemed to bolt out against his will as if the
woman's sympathy irresistibly won the child's confidence.

"Then I don't blame you. But how did you get here?"

"I was so tired I couldn't go any further, and I thought the folks up
here at the big house would take me in. But the gate was locked, and I
was so discouraged, I jest laid down outside and give up."

"Poor little soul, I don't wonder," said Mrs. Moss, while the children
looked deeply interested at mention of their gate.

The boy drew a long breath, and his eyes began to twinkle in spite of
his forlorn state as he went on, while the dog pricked up his ears at
mention of his name: --

"While I was restin' I heard some one come along inside, and I peeked,
and saw them little girls playin'. The vittles looked so nice I couldn't
help wantin' 'em; but I didn't take nothin', -- it was Sancho, and he
took the cake for me."