The Orphan Boy

Miss Abigail Burr was a little brown oíd maid, who livodin a little old brown house with her cat, Debby, and her woman-of-all-work, Pnidence, sharp of tongue, and long of visage, herself. There was nothing of grace, nor sweetness, about Miss Abigail's life; everything was dry, and hard and husky. Indeed, some people were so uncharitable as to say that her heart was like a very much dried up kernel in a nutehell, and would rattle if she were to be shaken hard enough, But I never believed Ihat. I always said that there was a soft spot in Miss Abigail's hearl, to be found when the time came to iind ït. One spring twilight a boy oponed Miss Abigail's garden gate, and walked up tho path between the rows of straggling lilacs. He was not a boy who lived about Caperstown, or he would not have dared venture, I am sure, for Prudence's sake, besides having nothing to vonture for. He was an unkempt, starved looking specimen of humanity. His coat was a world too long, and patched at the elbows; and his trousers a world too short and patched at the knees. His hit was guiltless of brim, and through a hole in the crown bobbed a little tuft of hair, which had once been brown, but now woefully faded. He went stright up to Miss Abigail's porch steps. Miss Abigail wss sitting on the porch in her high backed rocking chah so intent on binding off her stocking heel that she heard neither the click of the gate latch nor the footsteps on the hard-trodden path, and she did not look up till tho boy's figure interposed itself between her work and the fading sunset light. He doffcd his tattered hat-crown. "If you please, ma'am, will you - may I have something to eat?" Ït was not at all a tramp's manner of asking; there was a mauliness in his voice which Mi3s Abigail couki not help ¦oticing. Pcrhaps that was the reason she looked at the boy sharply for a moment before shcanswered. In that momont, Prudenoe, tall and angular, stood in the door. with a shawl thrown over her liead, and her right hand swarthed in soft ootton. 'TH have to get Jones Barrows to do the niilkin,' Mis Abigail," said she. "I can't. l've burned rny hand that bad." The boy looked up quickly. 'Can't I - could 1 milk tor jou?'' As I bare intimated, Prudence did not like boys; and that she soinediiies expressed her dislike in a very foreibk; manuur, many of the vilJage urchins could testify. " Now, slie sui-veyed this boy, standing by the poroh steps, from his bare head. not forgetting the faded linie tuft, in du-nb astoniühment. "You might let him trv. Pnuienee." said Miss Abigail, thinking dubiously of the nervous, mouse-eolored Alderney tke jard '1 eliored on a farm all lastsummer," explained the boy, eagerly, glanciug from mistress to maid. "1 want somo supper, and 111 be glad to do something to pay for it." "Well. you kin try it," said Prudence, titea a momentary deliberation. "It's better'n beggin' a favor anyhow." She led the vvay to the kitcnen, and took a shiniug tin pail from the dress81' "Here's the milk-pail." said she, to I the boy, who stood waiting; "an1 the cow's in the yard yonder. Pay day comes when the work is done." And Prudence smiled as sho went bout setting a lunch of bread and butter and cold meat. She feit ïnorally certain that the flighty Alderney heifer, used only to womeñ-kind, would be much more likely to spread a pair of bovine wings and ily away than allow herself to be milked by a boy. "He can't do it," she said to Miss Abigail, who brought her knitting work into the kitchen. '-The heifer will send him sky-high!" But he coukl, and he did. Soon he I appeared in the doorvvay, his pail 1 min? with snowv foam. 'Well, I never!" ejaculated Prudenco. "You didn't think I could?" asked the boy, smiling brightly, 'No", I didn't," admitted Prudence; and straightway, in her astonishment. she added to hia f are a segment of rhubarbpie. 'Wasn't there a bit of cheese left over from tea?" asked Abigail. Prudence thought there was, and Whilc sho was fetehing it from the I lar, the boy gave himself a scrubbmg ftt the pump coming in froni his abolutions fresh and ruddy as a rose. He was very hungry; there was no doubt of that. He looked at Miss Abigail with a depreciating smile, as Prudence carried off the bread plato for a third replenishtng. "I'm prettyhungrj'," he said. "This is tne first bite I'vo had since morning, and It tastesgood." ïo be sure it did. Miss Abigail thought of a littlo brother who aied years and years before, ere his tender feet began to feol the pricks in life's path. How strange that the sight of this little vagrant, satisfying his hunger at the kitchen table, should bring to her remembrance the child who hail ?o early put off the mortal for the imtnortal. Presently, when the boy had iinished his repast, he laid his knife and 'ork across his plato with a methodical precisión which it pleased Miss Abigail to see; and then ho glanced from Prudence, standing near her witli arms akimbo, to Miss Abigail. "Thank you foi' my suppor," said lio. "Maybe Id best be getting along You don't want a bov to work, do you?" "A - boy - to work!" echoed Prudcnce. "Did you ever." "No, we don't!" said Miss Abigail, shortly. And then - it was enough thatshe could not help thinking again of that frail lifo which had blighted in the bud so long before. "How far are you going?" shc asked. "I don't know ma'am." "And where have you come from?' proceeded Miss Abigail. "Trescott, ma'am. Mother died there three months ago." There was a pathetic quaver in his voice. And then, w:th a little questioning, he told hit simple story. His name wasBarry Olmstead, and he was twelve vears oíd. He had lived in Trescott a long time- he and his mothar; thoy were very poor, but they had kopt a little home together. His mother had taken in rwing. and he had worked for the neighboring farmers summers aud gone to school winters. And be had been happy, for all they were so poor, until - motber died. "Then I stopped with Deacon Staples a spell; he said he wanted to try me. But they were going to bind me jut to him, so I ran away. " "Noneto blame, nuther,"interposed Prudence with a greatdeal of emphasis "I've seen old Staples, down to Trescott. He's Ihat mean he'd skin a mouse for the hide and taller!" 'Tve been trying along for a chance to work," continued the boy, smiliug faintly. He was very near to tears, now, but ho held them back sturdily. "But thero don't anybody seem to want me." Miss Abigail was moved more than she would have carecí to own by bis recital. Even to her who had lived for self so long, there was something indescribably pitiful in the thought of this little wanderer battling alone with the world, buffeted by fortune, drif ting here or there, as chance might dictatc. It had grown dark, now - the larnps had long since been lighted; and there were mutterings of distant thunder in the air. "It's going to rain,1" said Miss Abigail; "you needn't go to-night; you may sleep in the stable loft. " Barry thanked her. The storm broke with great violence. And whilc Miss Abigail Tistened to the sharp peals of thunder and the pouring of the rain against tho windows, she thought of the lonely little wayfarer in the stable loft, with a new, strange throb of pitv. Morning carne, merry With bird songs, and güstening with niyriads of raindrops. Prudence was up, betimes, but, early as it was, she heard the sound of an ax in the woodshed; and when she opened tho door Barry smiled at her froni his post at the chopping block. "I don't think I paid enough for my supper - I eat such a lot," he said, "so I've split some kindlings, and I'll milk for you this morning if you want me to."' Prudence bronght the milk pail without a word. But when she had prepared Miss Abigail's morning meal, she made ready a good, substantial breakfast for Barry, also. When he had eaten it, he took up his hat crown. "Go out the way you carne in," said Prudence, "or else you'll bringr bad taak." Barry gave a littlo incredulous laugh, but he went out to the porch. Miss Abigail was there, taking leep breaths of the fresh air, and she bade hini a kind good morning as he went off the step and down the path again between the lilacs, exuberant in growth, but meagre in bloom. "1 wonder why lilacs do not flower more freely?" This Abigail said to Prudence, who came to the door. "I dunno," answered Prudence. Barry heard and turned. "I guess its because you leave the old blossoms on," he said, hesitatingly. "Mother used to say I must piek the blossoms off one year it' 1 wanted any the next." And then he went out of the gate, elosing it carefully behind him, and along the moist, brown highway. "That is a very uncomnion boy," said Miss Abigail, looking after him with serious eyes. "Yes," assented Prudence; "he's a clever enough little chap- for a boy." "To think of his knowing about" lilacs!" continued Miss Abigail, meditatively. "I must cut off the flowers this sering. " "An' he got as good a mess o' milk irom me nwier as 1 ooiilil na douo myelf witli a well hand," Prudence went on. "Tes, he would have been handv ah : iuilking and gettingthe wood for jou,'" said Miss Abigail. "An' bringin' the letters from the postoffice," continued Prudenoc. "It's a good piece over to the village in muddy walkin.' " "So it is,' said Miss Abigail. She gazed reflectirely alona: the road which wound serpentine, to the little hamlet a mile away. Barry was climbing the hill, amere, pitiful, loneiy speek in the distaaee as he was a mere, insigniücani atom in the great body of lnmmnity. Miss Abigail's eyes tilled. "We might havekept him," she said. '¦ 'ïaint too late, vet," put in Prudence. The t.wo women looked. into each "If you can make him hear." be-an Miss Abigail. For answer Prudence strode to the road and sent a longquivenng cry after Bany. "B-o-o-o-y!" But the little figure they were watch ing plodded steadüy on. "Gimme the old tin horn out 'er the I kitchen, Miss Abigail!" called Pru dence, excitedly. "Quiok!" Miss Abigail, staid spinster that she was, without a thought of the ludicrousness of the proceeding, ran to the kitchen, snatched the horn from its nai], and ran out with it to Prudence. And Prudenco put it to her lips, and blew a blast so long and so loud, that it startled the birds intosilence, and set the echoes ringing from hillside to hillside. "He c'n hear that if he c'n hear anything," shc muttered. He d:d. He stopped. Prudence flourished the horn in frantie exeitement. There was a moment of suspense; and then Prudence turned to Miss AbiffaiJ, who was standing by the gate. "He's a comin back," she said. When Barry, breathless with the liaste he had made, reached the cottage, Miss Abigail was on the porch. "We made up our rainds to keep you," she said, "so long as you don't give too much trouble." 'Oh, thankyou, ma'am!" cried Barry. "Indeed, I'll try to please you!" I am sure he has succeeded, for the lilacs havo been in bloom three times sinee thatmorning, and he is with Miss Abigail yet, growing tall, and stron-, and manly, as the years go by. He tills tho bit of a farniVhich had so long lain unimprovcd, and in winter attends school at the villacrc where he is .n excellent reputo. He is so faithful and helpful and kind, that Pnidence is fain to apothegmatize the horn after this fashion: "Harnsome is as harnsome does; an' you are deserrin' of a bed o' volvet, ole horn, for the deed you done that (laj !" The art of working in iron has been known at least 4,000 years.