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were both a little deaf, and she spoke loud in order tobe heard above the noise of the milk pattering into the pail. She hadcome out to look at one of the calves they intended selling.

  "It's too bad," he heard her say, after a while. "Rindy has just sether heart on him, but Arad, he thinks it's all foolishness to get sucha young one. He's willing to take one big enough to do the chores, buthe doesn't want to feed and keep what 'ud only be a care to 'em. Healways was closer'n the bark on a tree. After all, I'd hate to see thelittle fellow go."

  "Yes," was the answer, "he's a likely lad; but we're gettin' old,mother, and one is about all we can do well by. Sometimes I thinkmaybe we've bargained for too much, tryin' to keep even _one_. So it'sbest to let the little one go before we get to settin' sech store byhim that we can't."

  A vague terror seized Steven as he realized who it was they weretalking about. He lay awake a long time that night smoothing Robin'stangled curls, and crying at the thought of the motherless baby awayamong strangers, with no one to snuggle him up warm or sing him tosleep. Then there was another thought that wounded him deeply. Twistit whichever way he might, he could construe Mr. Dearborn's lastremark to mean but one thing. They considered him a burden. How manyplans he made night after night before he fell asleep! He would takeRobin by the hand in the morning, and they would slip away and wanderoff to the woods together. They could sleep in barns at night, and hecould stop at the farmhouses and do chores to pay for what they ate.Then they need not be a trouble to any one. Maybe in the summer theycould find a nice dry cave to live in. Lots of people had lived thatway. Then in a few years he would be big enough to have a house of hisown. All sorts of improbable plans flocked into his little brain undercover of the darkness, but always vanished when the daylight came.

  The next Saturday that they went to town was a cold, blustering day.They started late, taking a lunch with them, not intending to comehome until the middle of the afternoon.

  The wind blew a perfect gale by the time they reached town. Mr.Dearborn stopped his team in front of one of the principal groceries,saying, "Hop out, Steven, and see what they're paying for turkeysto-day."

  As he sprang over the wheel an old gentleman came running around thecorner after his hat, which the wind had carried away.

  Steven caught it and gave it to him. He clapped it on his bald crownwith a good-natured laugh. "Thanky, sonny!" he exclaimed heartily.Then he disappeared inside the grocery just as Mr. Dearborn calledout, "I believe I'll hitch the horses and go in too; I'm nearlyfrozen."

  Steven followed him into the grocery, and they stood with their handsspread out to the stove while they waited for the proprietor. He wastalking to the old gentleman whose hat Steven had rescued.

  He seemed to be a very particular kind of customer.

  "Oh, go on! go on!" he exclaimed presently. "Wait on those otherpeople while I make up my mind."

  While Mr. Dearborn was settling the price of his turkeys, the oldgentleman poked around like an inquisitive boy, thumping the pumpkins,smelling the coffee, and taking occasional picks at the raisins.Presently he stopped in front of Steven with a broad, friendly smileon his face.

  "You're from the country, ain't you?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir," answered Steven in astonishment.

  "Came from there myself, once," he continued with a chuckle. "Law,law! You'd never think it now. Fifty years makes a heap o'difference."

  He took another turn among the salt barrels and cracker boxes, thenasked suddenly, "What's your name, sonny?"

  "Steven," answered the boy, still more surprised.

  The old fellow gave another chuckle and rubbed his hands togetherdelightedly. "Just hear that, will you!" he exclaimed. "Why, that's myname, my very own name, sir! Well, well, well, well!"

  He stared at the child until he began to feel foolish anduncomfortable. What image of his own vanished youth did that boyishface recall to the eccentric old banker?

  As Mr. Dearborn turned to go Steven started after him.

  "Hold on, sonny," called the old gentleman, "I want to shake handswith my namesake."

  He pressed a shining half-dollar into the little mittened hand heldout to him.

  "That's for good luck," he said. "I was a boy myself, once. Law, law!Sometimes I wish I could have stayed one."

  Steven hardly knew whether to keep it or not, or what to say. The oldgentleman had resumed conversation with the proprietor and waved himoff impatiently.

  "I'll get Robin some candy and save all the rest till Christmas," washis first thought; but there was such a bewildering counter full oftoys on one side of the confectioner's shop that he couldn't make uphis mind to wait that long.

  He bought some shining sticks of red and white peppermint and turnedto the toys. There was a tiny sailboat with a little wooden sailor ondeck; but Robin would always be dabbling in the water if he got that.A tin horse and cart caught his eye. That would make such a clatter onthe bare kitchen floor.

  At last he chose a gay yellow jumping-jack. All the way home he keptfeeling the two little bundles in his pocket. He could not helpsmiling when the gables of the old house came in sight, thinking howdelighted Robin would be.

  He could hardly wait till the horses were put away and fed, and hechanged impatiently from one foot to another, while Mr. Dearbornsearched in the straw of the wagon-bed for a missing package ofgroceries. Then he ran to the house and into the big, warm kitchen,all out of breath.

  "Robin," he called, as he laid the armful of groceries on the kitchentable, "look what Brother's brought you. Why, where's Robin?" he askedof Mrs. Dearborn, who was busy stirring something on the stove forsupper. She had her back turned and did not answer.

  "Where's Robin," he asked again, peering all around to see where thebright curls were hiding.

  She turned around and looked at him over her spectacles. "Well, Is'pose I may's well tell you one time as another," she saidreluctantly. "Rindy came for him to-day. We talked it over andthought, as long as there had to be a separation, it would be easierfor you both, and save a scene, if you wasn't here to see him go. He'sgot a good home, and Rindy'll be kind to him."

  Steven looked at her in bewilderment, then glanced around the cheerfulkitchen. His slate lay on a chair where Robin had been scribbling andmaking pictures. The old cat that Robin had petted and played withthat very morning purred comfortably under the stove. The corncobhouse he had built was still in the corner. Surely he could not be sovery far away.

  He opened the stair door and crept slowly up the steps to their littleroom. He could scarcely distinguish anything at first, in the dimlight of the winter evening, but he saw enough to know that the littlestraw hat with the torn brim that he had worn in the summer time wasnot hanging on its peg behind the door. He looked in the washstanddrawer, where his dresses were kept. It was empty. He opened thecloset door. The new copper-toed shoes, kept for best, were gone, buthanging in one corner was the little checked gingham apron he had wornthat morning.

  Steven took it down. There was the torn place by the pocket, and thepatch on the elbow. He kissed the ruffle that had been buttoned underthe dimpled chin, and the little sleeves that had clung around hisneck so closely that morning. Then, with it held tight in his arms, hethrew himself on the bed, sobbing over and over, "It's too cruel! It'stoo cruel! They didn't even let me tell him good-by!"

  He did not go down to supper when Mrs. Dearborn called him, so shewent up after a while with a glass of milk and a doughnut.

  "There, there!" she said soothingly; "don't take it so hard. Try andeat something; you'll feel better if you do."

  Steven tried to obey, but every mouthful choked him. "Rindy'll beawful good to him," she said after a long pause. "She thinks he's theloveliest child she ever set eyes on, but she was afraid her husbandwould think he was too much of a baby if she took him home with thoselong curls on. She cut 'em off before they started, and I saved 'em. Iknew you'd be glad to have 'em."

  She lit the candle on the washstand and handed him a paper. He sat upa
nd opened it. There lay the soft, silky curls, shining like gold inthe candle-light, as they twined around his fingers. It was more thanhe could bear. His very lips grew white.

  Mrs. Dearborn was almost frightened. She could not understand how achild's grief could be so deep and passionate.

  He drew them fondly over his wet cheeks, and pressed them against hisquivering lips. Then laying his face down on them, he cried till hecould cry no longer, and sleep came to his relief.

  Next morning, when Steven pulled the window curtain aside, he seemedto be looking out on another world. The first snow of the