God could not have made a lovelier thing, as she stood there in
her worn dress and her ragged shoes, with that light of glory in
her face, and her damp hair waving and curling about her in the
last light of the day.

"I knew you'd fix him, Mister-Roger," she whispered, a great pride
and faith and worship in the low thrill of her voice. "I knew it!"

Something choked Jolly Roger, and he turned to the stove and began
spearing the crisp brown potatoes on the end of a fork. And he
said, with his back toward her,

"You came just in time for supper, Nada. We'll eat--and then I'll
go home with you, as far as the Ridge."

Peter watched them. His pain was gone, and it was nice and
comfortable in Jolly Roger's blanket, and with his whiskered face
on his fore-paws his bright eyes followed every movement of these
two who so completely made up his world. He heard that sweet
little laugh which came only now and then from Nada's lips, when
for a moment she was happy; he saw her shake out her hair in the
glow of the lamp which Jolly Roger lighted, and he observed Jolly
Roger standing at the stove--looking at her as she did it--a
worship in his face which changed the instant her eyes turned
toward him. In Peter's active little brain this gave birth to
nothing of definite understanding, except that in it all he sensed
happiness, for--somehow--there was always that feeling when they
were with Jolly Roger, no matter whether the sun was shining or
the day was dark and filled with gloom. Many times in his short
life he had seen grief and tears in Nada's face, and had seen her