"What--that child?" cried the listeners, in amaze.

[Illustration: JOEL SWINGING A BIG BOX RUSHED INTO DUNRAVEN HALL.]

"Yes--the old lady was tough, but"--he dashed off again, called a
station, slammed the door, and was back in position in less time than it
takes to tell it--"she was took sudden, while Mr. King's folks was in
Europe, and now that child has turned a handsome old place down
yonder"--he pointed with his thumb in the direction of Bedford--
"Dunraven Lodge, the old lady always called it, into a sort of a Home,
and she's chucked it full of children, mostly those whose fathers and
mothers are dead; and every Christmas Day Mr. King takes down a big
crowd, and"--

Here somebody called him off, not to be seen again till he put his head
in the doorway, and shouted "Bedford!"

* * * * *

Joel, swinging a big box as only Joel could, rushed into the spacious
hall at Dunraven Lodge. "How are you all!"

Phronsie disentangled herself from a group around the big fire-place
where the long hickory logs snapped and blazed.

"Oh, Josey!" she cried, precipitating herself into his long arms.

"Here is the toggery," cried Joel, setting down the doll-box, while he
gathered Phronsie up in his arms.