threw back his head. "I can hunt and work. See how strong I am," and he
placed his right hand upon the muscle of his doubled-up left arm.

"Some day you will be as big as my father, won't you?" replied Nellie,
much amused at the sturdy lad.

"Was that your father who brought me here?"

"Yes."

"And what's his name?"

"Mr. Westmore. But most people call him 'Parson John.' You'll call him
that, too, won't you? He likes it better."

"Yes; if you want me to, I will. But, say, what's your name?"

"Oh, mine's just Nellie, Nellie Westmore. Not very pretty, is it?"

"I think it is. Do you know that was my mother's name--Nellie, I mean, not
the other one."

"And do you remember your mother, Dan?"

"Only a little. She was good and pretty, just like you."

"Tell me about her, will you? I should like to hear."

And there in the quietness of that room Dan's tongue was unloosed, and in
his own simple way he told about his mother, her death, and how he and his