"But what's a body goin' to do? The boy'd go half-naked before his
father would sense it, with his nose in that paint-box. Much as ever
as he's got sense enough ter put on his own clothes--and he WOULDN'T
know WHEN ter put on CLEAN ones, if I didn't spread 'em out for him!"

"I know it. Too bad, too bad," murmured Mrs. McGuire, with a virtuous
shake of her head. "An' he with his fine bringin'-up, an' now to be so
shiftless an' good-for-nothin', an'--"

But Susan Betts was interrupting, her eyes flashing.

"If you please, I'll thank you to say no more like that about my
master," she said with dignity. "He's neither shiftless, nor good-for-
nothin'. His character is unbleachable! He's an artist an' a scholar
an' a gentleman, an' a very superlative man. It's because he knows so
much that--that he jest hain't got room for common things like clothes
an' holes in socks."

"Stuff an' nonsense!" retorted Mrs. McGuire nettled in her turn. "I
guess I've known Dan'l Burton as long as you have; an' as for his
bein' your master--he can't call his soul his own when you're around,
an' you know it."

But Susan, with a disdainful sniff, picked up her now empty clothes-
basket and marched into the house.

Down the road Keith had reached the turn and was climbing the hill
that led to old Mr. Harrington's shabby cottage.

The boy's eyes were fixed straight ahead. A squirrel whisked his tail