a trembling hand thrust itself aimlessly forward. "It IS Keith--ain't
it?"

"Oh, yes, sir, I'm Keith."

The boy, with a quick look about him, awkwardly shook the fluttering
fingers--Keith was not in the habit of shaking hands with people,
least of all with Uncle Joe Harrington. He sat down then on the step
at the old man's feet.

"What did ye bring ter-day, my boy?" asked the man eagerly; then with
a quick change of manner, he sighed, "but I'm afraid I can't fix it,
anyhow."

"Oh, no, sir, you don't have to. I didn't bring anything to be mended
to-day." Unconsciously Keith had raised his voice. He was speaking
loudly, and very politely.

The old man fell back in his chair. He looked relieved, yet
disappointed.

"Oh, well, that's all right, then. I'm glad. That is, of course, if I
could have fixed it for you--His sentence remained unfinished. A
profound gloom settled over his countenance.

"But I didn't bring anything for you to fix," reiterated the boy, in a
yet louder tone.

"There, there, my boy, you don't have to shout." The old man shifted
uneasily hi his seat. "I ain't deaf. I'm only--I suppose you know,