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_ "Please, 'm, my name is Ben Brown, and I'm travellin'."
"Where are you going?"
"Anywheres to get work."
"What sort of work can you do?"
"All kinds. I'm used to horses."
"Bless me! such a little chap as you?
"I'm twelve, ma'am, and can ride any thing on
four legs;" and the small boy gave a nod that
seemed to say, "Bring on your Cruisers. I'm ready
for 'em."
"Haven't you got any folks?" asked Mrs. Moss,
amused but still anxious, for the sunburnt face was
very thin, the eyes hollow with hunger or pain, and
the ragged figure leaned on the wheel as if too weak
or weary to stand alone.
"No, 'm, not of my own; and the people I was
left with beat me so, I -- run away." The last words
seemed to bolt out against his will as if the woman's
sympathy irresistibly won the child's confidence.
"Then I don't blame you. But how did you get
here?"
"I was so tired I couldn't go any further, and
I thought the folks up here at the big house
would take me in. But the gate was locked, and I
was so discouraged, I jest laid down outside and
give up."
"Poor little soul, I don't wonder," said Mrs. Moss,
while the children looked deeply interested at mention
of their gate.
The boy drew a long breath, and his eyes began to
twinkle in spite of his forlorn state as he went on,
while the dog pricked up his ears at mention of his
name: --
"While I was restin' I heard some one come along
inside, and I peeked, and saw them little girls playin'.
The vittles looked so nice I couldn't help wantin'
'em; but I didn't take nothin', -- it was Sancho, and
he took the cake for me."
Bab and Betty gave a gasp and stared reproachfully
at the poodle, who half closed his eyes with a meek,
unconscious look that was very droll.
"And you made him put it back?" cried Bab.
"No; I did it myself. Got over the gate when you
was racin' after Sancho, and then clim' up on the porch
and hid," said the boy with a grin.
"And you laughed?" asked Bab.
"Yes."
"And sneezed?" added Betty.
"Yes."
"And threw down the roses?" cried both.
"Yes; and you liked 'em, didn't you?"
"Course we did! What made you hide?" said
Bab.
"I wasn't fit to be seen," muttered Ben, glancing
at his tatters as if he'd like to dive out of sight into
the dark coach again.
"How came you here?" demanded Mrs. Moss,
suddenly remembering her responsibility.
"I heard 'em talk about a little winder and a shed,
and when they'd gone I found it and come in. The
glass was broke, and I only pulled the nail out. I
haven't done a mite of harm sleepin' here two nights.
I was so tuckered out I couldn't go on nohow, though
I tried a-Sunday."
"And came back again?
"Yes, 'm; it was so lonesome in the rain, and this
place seemed kinder like home, and I could hear 'em
talkin' outside, and Sanch he found vittles, and I was
pretty comfortable."
"Well, I never!" ejaculated Mrs. Moss, whisking
up a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes, for the
thought of the poor little fellow alone there for two
days and nights with no bed but musty straw, no food
but the scraps a dog brought him, was too much for
her. "Do you know what I'm going to do with
you?" she asked, trying to look calm and cool, with a
great tear running down her wholesome red cheek, and
a smile trying to break out at the corners of her lips.
"No, ma'am, and I dunno as I care. Only don't
be hard on Sanch; he's been real good to me, and
we 're fond of one another; ain't us, old chap?"
answered the boy, with his arm around the dog's
neck, and an anxious look which he had not worn
for himself.
"I'm going to take you right home, and wash and feed
and put you in a good bed; and to-morrow, --
well, we'll see what'll happen then," said Mrs. Moss,
not quite sure about it herself.
"You're very kind, ma'am, I'll be glad to work
for you. Ain't you got a horse I can see to?" asked
the boy, eagerly.
"Nothing but hens and a cat."
Bab and Betty burst out laughing when their mother
said that, and Ben gave a faint giggle, as if he would
like to join in if he only had the strength to do it.
But his legs shook under him, and he felt a queer dizziness;
so he could only hold on to Sancho, and blink
at the light like a young owl.
"Come right along, child. Run on, girls, and put
the rest of the broth to warming, and fill the kettle.
I'll see to the boy," commanded Mrs. Moss, waving
off the children, and going up to feel the pulse of her
new charge, for it suddenly occurred to her that he
might be sick and not safe to take home.
The hand he gave her was very thin, but clean and
cool, and the black eyes were clear though hollow,
for the poor lad was half-starved.
"I'm awful shabby, but I ain't dirty. I had a
washin' in the rain last night, and I've jest about lived
on water lately," he explained, wondering why she
looked at him so hard.
"Put out your tongue."
He did so, but took it in again to say quickly, --
"I ain't sick, -- I'm only hungry; for I haven't had
a mite but what Sanch brought, for three days; and
I always go halves, don't I, Sanch?"
The poodle gave a shrill bark, and vibrated excitedly
between the door and his master as if he understood all
that was going on, and recommended a
speedy march toward the promised food and shelter.
Mrs. Moss took the hint, and bade the boy follow her
at once and bring his "things" with him.
"I ain't got any. Some big fellers took away my
bundle, else I wouldn't look so bad. There's only
this. I'm sorry Sanch took it, and I'd like to give it
back if I knew whose it was," said Ben, bringing the
new dinner-pail out from the depths of the coach
where he had gone to housekeeping.
"That's soon done; it's mine, and you're welcome to the
bits your queer dog ran off with. Come
along, I must lock up," and Mrs. Moss clanked her
keys suggestively.
Ben limped out, leaning on a broken hoe-handle,
for he was stiff after two days in such damp lodgings,
as well as worn out with a fortnight's wandering
through sun and rain. Sancho was in great spirits,
evidently feeling that their woes were over and his
foraging expeditions at an end, for he frisked about
his master with yelps of pleasure, or made playful
darts at the ankles of his benefactress, which caused
her to cry, "Whish!" and "Scat!" and shake her
skirts at him as if he were a cat or hen.
A hot fire was roaring in the stove under the broth-skillet
and tea-kettle, and Betty was poking in more
wood, with a great smirch of black on her chubby
cheek, while Bab was cutting away at the loaf as if
bent on slicing her own fingers off. Before Ben knew
what he was about, he found himself in the old rocking-chair
devouring bread and butter as only a hungry
boy can, with Sancho close by gnawing a mutton-bone
like a ravenous wolf in sheep's clothing.
While the new-comers were thus happily employed, Mrs.
Moss beckoned the little girls out of
the room, and gave them both an errand.
"Bab, you run over to Mrs. Barton's, and ask her
for any old duds Billy don't want; and Betty, you go
to the Cutters, and tell Miss Clarindy I'd like a couple
of the shirts we made at last sewing circle. Any shoes,
or a hat, or socks, would come handy, for the poor
dear hasn't a whole thread on him."
Away went the children full of anxiety to clothe
their beggar; and so well did they plead his cause
with the good neighbors, that Ben hardly knew himself when
he emerged from the back bedroom half an
hour later, clothed in Billy Barton's faded flannel suit,
with an unbleached cotton shirt out of the Dorcas
basket, and a pair of Milly Cutter's old shoes on his
feet.
Sancho also had been put in better trim, for, after
his master had refreshed himself with a warm bath, he
gave his dog a good scrub while Mrs. Moss set a stitch
here and there in the new old clothes; and Sancho
reappeared, looking more like the china poodle than
ever, being as white as snow, his curls well brushed
up, and his tasselly tail waving proudly over his
back.
Feeling eminently respectable and comfortable, the
wanderers humbly presented themselves, and were
greeted with smiles of approval from the little girls and
a hospitable welcome from the mother, who set
them near the stove to dry, as both were decidedly
damp after their ablutions.
"I declare I shouldn't have known you!" exclaimed
the good woman, surveying the boy with great satisfaction;
for, though still very thin and tired, the lad
had a tidy look that pleased her, and a lively way of
moving about in his clothes, like an eel in a skin rather
too big for him. The merry black eyes seemed to
see every thing, the voice had an honest sound, and
the sunburnt face looked several years younger since
the unnatural despondency had gone out of it.
"It's very nice, and me and Sanch are lots
obliged, ma'am," murmured Ben, getting red and
bashful under the three pairs of friendly eyes fixed
upon him.
Bab and Betty were doing up the tea-things with
unusual despatch, so that they might entertain their
guest, and just as Ben spoke Bab dropped a cup.
To her great surprise no smash followed, for, bending
quickly, the boy caught it as it fell, and presented it
to her on the back of his hand with a little bow.
"Gracious ! how could you do it? "asked Bab, looking as if
she thought there was magic about.
"That's nothing; look here," and, taking two plates,
Ben sent them spinning up into the air, catching and
throwing so rapidly that Bab and Betty stood with
their mouths open, as if to swallow the plates should
they fall, while Mrs. Moss, with her dish-cloth suspended,
watched the antics of her crockery with a housewife's anxiety.
"That does beat all! " was the only exclamation
she had time to make; for, as if desirous of showing
his gratitude in the only way he could, Ben took
clothes-pins from a basket near by, sent several saucers
twirling up, caught them on the pins,
balanced the pins on chin, nose, forehead, and went
walking about with a new and peculiar sort of toadstool
ornamenting his countenance.
The children were immensely tickled, and Mrs.
Moss was so amused she would have lent her best
soup-tureen if he had expressed a wish for it. But
Ben was too tired to show all his accomplishments
at once, and he soon stopped, looking as if he almost
regretted having betrayed that he possessed any.
"I guess you've been in the juggling business,"
said Mrs. Moss, with a wise nod, for she saw the same
look on his face as when he said his name was Ben
Brown, -- the look of one who was not telling the
whole truth.
"Yes, 'm. I used to help Senor Pedro, the Wizard
of the World, and I learned some of his tricks,"
stammered Ben, trying to seem innocent.
"Now, look here, boy, you'd better tell me the
whole story, and tell it true, or I shall have to send
you up to judge Morris. I wouldn't like to do that,
for he is a harsh sort of a man; so, if you haven't
done any thing bad, you needn't be afraid to speak
out, and I'll do what I can for you," said Mrs. Moss,
rather sternly, as she went and sat down in her rocking-chair,
as if about to open the court.
"I haven't done any thing bad, and I ain't afraid,
only I don't want to go back; and if I tell, may be
you'll let 'em know where I be," said Ben, much distressed
between his longing to confide in his new
friend and his fear of his old enemies.
"If they abused you, of course I wouldn't. Tell
the truth, and I'll stand by you. Girls, you go for
the milk."
"Oh, Ma, do let us stay! We'll never tell,
truly, truly!" cried Bab and Betty, full of dismay
being sent off when secrets were about to be
divulged.
"I don't mind 'em," said Ben handsomely.
"Very well, only hold your tongues. Now, boy
where did you come from?" said Mrs. Moss, as the
little girls hastily sat down together on their private
and particular bench opposite their mother, brimming
with curiosity and beaming with satisfaction at the
prospect before them. _
Read next: CHAPTER IV. HIS STORY
Read previous: CHAPTER II. WHERE THEY FOUND HIS MASTER
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