BIG BROTHER [Illustration: ROBIN] "_Cosy Corner Series_" BIG BROTHER BY ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON [Illustration] BOSTONJOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY1894 COPYRIGHT, 1893BYJOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY [Illustration: ILLUSTRATIONS] PAGE ROBIN _Frontispiece_ "A BAREFOOT GIRL WEARING A SUNBONNET" 1 "MRS. ESTEL WAS LISTENING TO LITTLE SCRAPS OF HISTORY, " ETC. 9 "THE LITTLE WHITE COTTAGE IN NEW JERSEY, " 19 "ROBIN FOLLOWED HIM EVERYWHERE" 21 "STEVEN WOULD COAX HIM OVER IN A CORNER TO LOOK AT THE BOOK" 23 "THE BLACK DANCING BEAR HAD ALWAYS TO BE PUT TO BED" 26 "ONCE HE TOOK A BALL OF YARN TO ROLL AFTER THE WHITE KITTEN" 29 "HE WANTED TO GET AWAY FROM THE HOUSE, " ETC. 43 "THEY COMMENCED TO BUILD A SNOW MAN" 54 BIG BROTHER. Every coach on the long western-bound train was crowded withpassengers. Dust and smoke poured in at the windows and even thebreeze seemed hot as it blew across the prairie cornfields burning inthe July sun. [Illustration] It was a relief when the engine stopped at last in front of a smallvillage depot. There was a rush for the lunch counter and therestaurant door, where a noisy gong announced dinner. "Blackberries! blackberries!" called a shrill little voice on theplatform. A barefoot girl, wearing a sunbonnet, passed under the carwindows, holding up a basket full, that shone like great black beads. A gentleman who had just helped two ladies to alight from the stepsof a parlor car called to her and began to fumble in his pockets forthe right change. "Blackberries! blackberries!" sang another voice mockingly. This timeit came from a roguish-looking child, hanging half-way out of a windowin the next car. He was a little fellow, not more than three yearsold. His hat had fallen off, and his sunny tangle of curls shonearound a face so unusually beautiful that both ladies uttered anexclamation of surprise. "Look, papa! Look, Mrs. Estel!" exclaimed the younger of the two. "Oh, isn't he a perfect picture! I never saw such eyes, or such delicatecoloring. It is an ideal head. " "Here, Grace, " exclaimed her father, laughingly. "Don't forget yourberries in your enthusiasm. It hasn't been many seconds since you weregoing into raptures over them. They certainly are the finest I eversaw. " The girl took several boxes from her basket, and held them up for theladies to choose. Grace took one mechanically, her eyes still fixed onthe child in the window. "I'm going to make friends with him!" she exclaimed impulsively. "Let's walk down that way. I want to speak to him. " "Blackberries!" sang the child again, merrily echoing the cry thatcame from the depths of the big sunbonnet as it passed on. Grace picked out the largest, juiciest berry in the box, and held itup to him with a smile. His face dimpled mischievously, as he leanedforward and took it between his little white teeth. "Do you want some more?" she asked. His eyes shone, and every little curl bobbed an eager assent. "What's your name, dear, " she ventured, as she popped another one intohis mouth. "Robin, " he answered, and leaned farther out to look into her box. "Becareful, " she cautioned; "you might fall out. " He looked at her gravely an instant, and then said in a slow, quaintfashion: "Why, no; I can't fall out, 'cause big brother's a holdin' onto my feet. " She drew back a little, startled. It had not occurred to her that anyone else might be interested in watching this little episode. She gavea quick glance at the other windows of the car, and then exclaimed:"What is it, papa, --a picnic or a travelling orphan asylum? It lookslike a whole carload of children. " Yes, there they were, dozens of them, it seemed; fair faces andfreckled ones, some dimpled and some thin; all bearing the marks of along journey on soot-streaked features and grimy hands, but allwonderfully merry and good-natured. Just then a tired-looking man swung himself down the steps, and stoodlooking around him, knitting his brows nervously. He heard the girl'squestion, and then her father's reply: "I don't know, my dear, I amsure; but I'll inquire if you wish. " The man's brows relaxed a little and he answered them without waitingto be addressed. "They are children sent out by an aid society in theEast. I am taking them to homes in Kansas, mostly in the country. " "You don't mean to tell me, " the old gentleman exclaimed in surprise, "that you have the care of that entire car full of children! How doyou ever manage them all?" The man grinned. "It does look like a case of the old woman that livedin a shoe, but there are not as many as it would seem. They can spreadthemselves over a good deal of territory, and I'm blessed if some of'em can't be in half a dozen places at once. There's a little Englishgirl in the lot--fourteen years or thereabouts--that keeps a prettysharp eye on them. Then they're mostly raised to taking care ofthemselves. " Some one accosted him, and he turned away. Grace lookedup at the bewitching little face, still watching her with eagerinterest. "Poor baby!" she said to herself. "Poor little homeless curly head! IfI could only do something for you!" Then she realized that even theopportunity she had was slipping away, and held up the box. "Here, Robin, " she called, "take it inside so that you can eat them withoutspilling them. " "All of 'em?" he asked with a radiant smile. He stretched out hisdirty, dimpled fingers. "_All_ of 'em, " he repeated with satisfactionas he balanced the box on the sill. "All for Big Brother and me!" Another face appeared at the window beside Robin's, one very much likeit; grave and sweet, with the same delicate moulding of features. There was no halo of sunny curls on the finely shaped head, but thepersistent wave of the darker, closely cut hair showed what it hadbeen at Robin's age. There was no color in the face either. The linesof the sensitive mouth had a pathetic suggestion of suppressedtrouble. He was a manly-looking boy, but his face was far too sad fora child of ten. "Gracie, " said Mrs. Estel, "your father said the train will not startfor fifteen minutes. He has gone back to stay with your mother. Wouldyou like to go through the car with me, and take a look at the littlewaifs?" "Yes, indeed, " was the answer. "Think how far they have come. I wishwe had found them sooner. " A lively game of tag was going on in the aisle. Children swarmed overthe seats and under them. One boy was spinning a top. Two or threewere walking around on their hands, with their feet in the air. Thegayest group seemed to be in the far end of the car, where two seatsfull of children were amusing themselves by making faces at eachother. The uglier the contortion and more frightful the grimace, thelouder they laughed. In one corner the English girl whom the man had mentioned sat mendinga little crocheted jacket, belonging to one of the children. She wasindeed keeping a sharp eye on them. "'Enry, " she called authoritatively, "stop teasing those girls, Hisay. Pull the 'airs from your hown 'ead, and see 'ow you like thatnaow! Sally, you shall not drink the 'ole enjuring time. Leave the cupbe! No, Maggie, Hi can tell no story naow. Don't you see Hi must beplying my needle? Go play, whilst the car stops. " Robin smiled on Grace like an old friend when she appeared at thedoor, and moved over to make room for her on the seat beside him. Hehad no fear of strangers, so he chattered away in confiding babyfashion, but the older boy said nothing. Sometimes he smiled when shetold some story that made Robin laugh out heartily, but it seemed toher that it was because the little brother was pleased that helaughed, not because he listened. Presently Mrs. Estel touched her on the shoulder. "The time is almostup. I am going to ask your father to bring my things in here. As youleave at the next station, I could not have your company much longer, anyhow. I have all the afternoon ahead of me, and I want something toamuse me. " "I wish I could stay with you, " answered Grace, "but mamma is such aninvalid I cannot leave her that long. She would be worrying about meall the time. " She bade Robin an affectionate good-by, telling him that he was thedearest little fellow in the world, and that she could never forgethim. He followed her with big, wistful eyes as she passed out, butsmiled happily when she turned at the door to look back and kiss herhand to him. At the next station, where they stopped for a few minutes, he watchedfor her anxiously. Just as the train began to pull out he caught aglimpse of her. There was a flutter of a white handkerchief and abundle came flying in through the window. He looked out quickly, just in time to see her stepping into acarriage. Then a long line of freight cars obstructed the view. By thetime they had passed them they were beyond even the stragglingoutskirts of the village, with wide cornfields stretching in everydirection, and it was of no use to look for her any longer. Mrs. Estel lost no time in making the young English girl'sacquaintance. She was scarcely settled in her seat before she found anopportunity. Her umbrella slipped from the rack, and the girl sprangforward to replace it. "You have had a tiresome journey, " Mrs. Estel remarked pleasantlyafter thanking her. "Yes, indeed, ma'am!" answered the girl, glad of some one to talk toinstead of the children, whose remarks were strictly of aninterrogative nature. It was an easy matter to draw her intoconversation, and in a short time Mrs. Estel was listening to littlescraps of history that made her eyes dim and her heart ache. [Illustration] "Do you mind telling me your name?" she asked at length. "Ellen, ma'am. " "But the other, " continued Mrs. Estel. "We're not to tell, ma'am. " Then seeing the look of inquiry on herface, explained, "Sometimes strangers make trouble, hasking thelittle ones hall sorts hof questions; so we've been told not to saywhere we're going, nor hany think helse. " "I understand, " answered Mrs. Estel quickly. "I ask only because I amso much interested. I have a little girl at home that I have been awayfrom for a week, but she has a father and a grandmother and a nurse totake care of her while I am gone. It makes me feel so sorry for thesepoor little things turned out in the world alone. " "Bless you, ma'am!" exclaimed Ellen cheerfully. "The 'omes they'regoing to be a sight better than the 'omes they've left behind. Naowthere's 'Enery; 'is mother died hin a drunken fit. 'E never knewnothink hall 'is life but beating and starving, till the Haid Societytook 'im hin 'and. "Then there's Sally. Why, Sally's living 'igh naow--hoff the fat hofthe land, has you might say. Heverybody knows 'ow 'er hold huncletreated 'er!" Mrs. Estel smiled as she glanced at Sally, to whom the faucet of thewater-cooler seemed a never-failing source of amusement. Ellen had puta stop to her drinking, which she had been doing at intervals all themorning, solely for the pleasure of seeing the water stream out whenshe turned the stop-cock. Now she had taken a tidy spell. Holding herbit of a handkerchief under the faucet long enough to get it drippingwet, she scrubbed herself with the ice-water, until her cheeks shonelike rosy winter apples. Then she smoothed the wet, elfish-looking hair out of her black eyes, and proceeded to scrub such of the smaller children as could notescape from her relentless grasp. Some submitted dumbly, and othersstruggled under her vigorous application of the icy rag, but all sheattacked came out clean and shining. Her dress was wringing wet in front, and the water was standing inpuddles around her feet, when the man who had them in charge camethrough the car again. He whisked her impatiently into a seat, settingher down hard. She made a saucy face behind his back, and began tosing at the top of her voice. One little tot had fallen and bumped its head as the train gave asudden lurch. It was crying pitifully, but in a subdued sort ofwhimper, as if it felt that crying was of no use when nobody listenedand nobody cared. He picked it up, made a clumsy effort to comfortit, and, not knowing what else to do, sat down beside it. Then for thefirst time he noticed Mrs. Estel. She had taken a pair of scissors from her travelling-bag, and had cutseveral newspapers up into soldiers and dolls and all kinds of animalsfor the crowd that clamored around her. They were such restless little bodies, imprisoned so long on thistedious journey, that anything with a suggestion of novelty waswelcome. When she had supplied them with a whole regiment of soldiers andenough animals to equip a menagerie, she took another paper and beganteaching them to fold it in curious ways to make boxes, and boats, andbaskets. One by one they crowded up closer to her, watching her as if she weresome wonderful magician. They leaned their dusty heads against herfresh gray travelling-dress. They touched her dainty gloves withdirty, admiring fingers. They did not know that this was the firsttime that she had ever come in close contact with such lives astheirs. They did not know that it was the remembrance of another child, --onewho awaited her home-coming, --a petted little princess born to purpleand fine linen, that made her so tender towards them. Remembering whathers had, and all these lacked, she felt that she must crowd all thebrightness possible into the short afternoon they were together. Every one of them, at some time in their poor bare lives, had knownwhat it was to be kindly spoken to by elegant ladies, to bepatronizingly smiled upon, to be graciously presented with gifts. But this was different. This one took the little Hodge girl right upin her lap while she was telling them stories. This one did not pickout the pretty ones to talk to, as strangers generally did. It reallyseemed that the most neglected and unattractive of them received themost of her attention. From time to time she glanced across at Robin's lovely face, andcontrasted it with the others. The older boy attracted her still more. He seemed to be the only thoughtful one among them all. The othersremembered no past, looked forward to no future. When they were hungrythere was something to eat. When they were tired they could sleep, andall the rest of the time there was somebody to play with. What morecould one want? The child never stirred from his place, but she noticed that he made aconstant effort to entertain Robin. He told him stories and inventedlittle games. When the bundle came flying in through the window heopened it with eager curiosity. Grace had hurried into the village store as soon as the train stoppedand had bought the first toy she happened to see. It was a blackdancing bear, worked by a tiny crank hidden under the bar on which itstood. Robin's pleasure was unbounded, and his shrieks of delightbrought all the children flocking around him. "More dancin', Big Brother, " he would insist, when the animal paused. "Robin wants to see more dancin'. " So patient little "Big Brother" kept on turning the crank, long afterevery one save Robin was tired of the black bear's antics. Once she saw the restless 'Enry trying to entice him into a game oftag in the aisle. Big Brother shook his head, and the fat little legsclambered up on the seat again. Robin watched Mrs. Estel with suchlonging eyes as she entertained the others that she beckoned to himseveral times to join them, but he only bobbed his curls gravely andleaned farther back in his seat. Presently the man strolled down the aisle again to close a window, outof which one fidgety boy kept leaning to spit at the flying telegraphpoles. On his way back Mrs. Estel stopped him. "Will you please tell me about those two children?" she asked, glancing towards Robin and his brother. "I am very much interested inthem, and would gladly do something for them, if I could. " "Certainly, madam, " he replied deferentially. He felt a personal senseof gratitude towards her for having kept three of his most unrulycharges quiet so long. He felt, too, that she did not ask merely fromidle curiosity, as so many strangers had done. "Yes, everybody asks about them, for they _are_ uncommonbright-looking, but it's very little anybody knows to tell. " Then he gave her their history in a few short sentences. Their fatherhad been killed in a railroad accident early in the spring. Theirmother had not survived the terrible shock more than a week. No tracecould be found of any relatives, and there was no property left tosupport them. Several good homes had been offered to the childrensingly in different towns, but no one was willing to take both. Theyclung together in such an agony of grief, when an attempt was made atseparation, that no one had the heart to part them. Then some one connected with the management of the Aid Society openeda correspondence with an old farmer of his acquaintance out West. Itended in his offering to take them both for a while. His marrieddaughter, who had no children of her own, was so charmed with Robin'spicture that she wanted to adopt him. She could not be ready to takehim, though, before they moved into their new house, which they werebuilding several miles away. The old farmer wanted the older boy tohelp him with his market gardening, and was willing to keep the littleone until his daughter was ready to take him. So they could betogether for a while, and virtually they would always remain in thesame family. Mr. Dearborn was known to be such an upright, reliable man, sogenerous and kind-hearted in all his dealings, that it was decided toaccept his offer. "Do they go much farther?" asked the interested listener, when he hadtold her all he knew of the desolate little pilgrims. "Only a few miles the other side of Kenton, " he answered. "Why, Kenton is where I live, " she exclaimed. "I am glad it will be sonear. " Then as he passed on she thought to herself, "It would be cruelto separate them. I never saw such devotion as that of the older boy. "His feet could not reach the floor, but he sat up uncomfortably on thehigh seat, holding Robin in his lap. The curly head rested heavily onhis shoulder, and his arms ached with their burden, but he never movedexcept to brush away the flies, or fan the flushed face of the littlesleeper with his hat. Something in the tired face, the large appealing eyes, and the droopof the sensitive mouth, touched her deeply. She crossed the aisle andsat down by him. "Here, lay him on the seat, " she said, bending forward to arrange hershawl for a pillow. He shook his head. "Robin likes best for me to hold him. " "But he will be cooler and so much more comfortable, " she urged. Taking the child from his unwilling arms, she stretched him fulllength on the improvised bed. Involuntarily the boy drew a deep sigh of relief, and leaned back inthe corner. "Are you very tired?" she asked. "I have not seen you playing with theother children. " "Yes'm, " he answered. "We've come such a long way. I have to amuseRobin all the time he's awake, or he'll cry to go back home. " "Where was your home?" she asked kindly. "Tell me about it. " He glanced up at her, and with a child's quick instinct knew that hehad found a friend. The tears that he had been bravely holding backall the afternoon for Robin's sake could no longer be restrained. Hesat for a minute trying to wink them away. Then he laid his headwearily down on the window sill and gave way to his grief with greatchoking sobs. She put her arm around him and drew his head down on her shoulder. Atfirst the caressing touch of her fingers, as they gently stroked hishair, made the tears flow faster. Then he grew quieter after a while, and only sobbed at long intervals as he answered her questions. His name was Steven, he said. He knew nothing of the home to which hewas being taken, nor did he care, if he could only be allowed to staywith Robin. He told her of the little white cottage in New Jersey, where they had lived, of the peach-trees that bloomed around thehouse, of the beehive in the garden. He had brooded over the recollection of his lost home so long insilence that now it somehow comforted him to talk about it to thissympathetic listener. [Illustration] Soothed by her soft hand smoothing his hair, and exhausted by the heatand his violent grief, he fell asleep at last. It was almost dark whenhe awoke and sat up. "I must leave you at the next station, " Mrs. Estel said, "but you aregoing only a few miles farther. Maybe I shall see you again some day. "She left him to fasten her shawl-strap, but presently came back, bringing a beautifully illustrated story-book that she had bought forthe little daughter at home. "Here, Steven, " she said, handing it to him. "I have written my nameand address on the fly-leaf. If you ever need a friend, dear, or arein trouble of any kind, let me know and I will help you. " He had known her only a few hours, yet, when she kissed him good-byand the train went whirling on again, he felt that he had left hislast friend behind him. When one is a child a month is a long time. Grandfathers say, "Thathappened over seventy years ago, but it seems just like yesterday. "Grandchildren say, "Why, it was only yesterday we did that, but somuch has happened since that it seems such a great while!" One summer day can stretch out like a lifetime at life's beginning. Itis only at threescore and ten that we liken it to a weaver's shuttle. It was in July when old John Dearborn drove to the station to meet thechildren. Now the white August lilies were standing up sweet and tallby the garden fence. "Seems like we've been here 'most always, " said Steven as they rustledaround in the hay hunting eggs. His face had lost its expression ofsadness, so pathetic in a child, as day after day Robin's little feetpattered through the old homestead, and no one came to take him away. Active outdoor life had put color in his face and energy into hismovements. Mr. Dearborn and his wife were not exacting in theirdemands, although they found plenty for him to do. The work was allnew and pleasant, and Robin was with him everywhere. When he fed theturkeys, when he picked up chips, when he drove the cows to pasture, or gathered the vegetables for market, Robin followed him everywhere, like a happy, dancing shadow. [Illustration] Then when the work was done there were the kittens in the barn and theswing in the apple-tree. A pond in the pasture sailed their shingleboats. A pile of sand, left from building the new ice-house, furnished material for innumerable forts and castles. There was asunny field and a green, leafy orchard. How could they _help but behappy?_ It was summer time and they were together. Steven's was more than a brotherly devotion. It was with almost thetenderness of mother-love that he watched the shining curls dancingdown the walk as Robin chased the toads through the garden or playedhide-and-seek with the butterflies. "No, the little fellow's scarcely a mite of trouble, " Mrs. Dearbornwould say to the neighbors sometimes when they inquired. "Steven isreal handy about dressing him and taking care of him, so I just leaveit mostly to him. " Mrs. Dearborn was not a very observing woman or she would have seenwhy he "was scarcely a mite of trouble. " If there was never a crumbleft on the doorstep where Robin sat to eat his lunch, it was becauseBig Brother's careful fingers had picked up every one. If she neverfound any tracks of little bare feet on the freshly scrubbed kitchenfloor, it was because his watchful eyes had spied them first, and hehad wiped away every trace. He had an instinctive feeling that if he would keep Robin with him hemust not let any one feel that he was a care or annoyance. So he neverrelaxed his watchfulness in the daytime, and slept with one arm thrownacross him at night. Sometimes, after supper, when it was too late to go outdoors again, the restless little feet kicked thoughtlessly against the furniture, or the meddlesome fingers made Mrs. Dearborn look at him warninglyover her spectacles and shake her head. [Illustration] Sometimes the shrill little voice, with its unceasing questions, seemed to annoy the old farmer as he dozed over his weekly newspaperbeside the lamp. Then, if it was too early to go to bed, Steven wouldcoax him over in a corner to look at the book that Mrs. Estel hadgiven him, explaining each picture in a low voice that could notdisturb the deaf old couple. It was at these times that the old feeling of loneliness came back sooverwhelmingly. Grandpa and Grandma, as they called them, were kind intheir way, but even to their own children they had beenundemonstrative and cold. Often in the evenings they seemed to draw soentirely within themselves, she with her knitting and he with hispaper or accounts, that Steven felt shut out, and apart. "Just thestrangers within thy gates, " he sometimes thought to himself. He hadheard that expression a long time ago, and it often came back to him. Then he would put his arm around Robin and hug him up close, feelingthat the world was so big and lonesome, and that he had no one else tocare for but him. Sometimes he took him up early to the little room under the roof, and, lying on the side of the bed, made up more marvellous stories than anythe book contained. Often they drew the big wooden rocking-chair close to the window, and, sitting with their arms around each other, looked out on the moonlitstillness of the summer night. Then, with their eyes turned starward, they talked of the far country beyond; for Steven tried to keepundimmed in Robin's baby memory a living picture of the father andmother he was so soon forgetting. "Don't you remember, " he would say, "how papa used to come home in theevening and take us both on his knees, and sing 'Kingdom Coming' tous? And how mamma laughed and called him a big boy when he got down onthe floor and played circus with us? "And don't you remember how we helped mamma make cherry pie for dinnerone day? You were on the doorstep with some dough in your hands, and agreedy old hen came up and gobbled it right out of your fingers. " Robin would laugh out gleefully at each fresh reminiscence, and thensay: "Tell some more r'members, Big Brother!" And so Big Brother wouldgo on until a curly head drooped over on his shoulder and a sleepyvoice yawned "Sand-man's a-comin'. " The hands that undressed him were as patient and deft as a woman's. Hemissed no care or tenderness. When he knelt down in his white gown, just where the patch ofmoonlight lay on the floor, his chubby hands crossed on Big Brother'sknee, there was a gentle touch of caressing fingers on his curls ashis sleepy voice repeated the evening prayer the far away mother hadtaught them. There was always one ceremony that had to be faithfully performed, nomatter how sleepy he might be. The black dancing bear had always to beput to bed in a cracker box and covered with a piece of red flannel. [Illustration] One night he looked up gravely as he folded it around his treasure andsaid, "Robin tucks ze black dancin' bear in bed, an' Big Brother tucksin Robin. Who puts Big Brother to bed?" "Nobody, now, " answered Steven with a quivering lip, for his child'sheart ached many a night for the lullaby and bedtime petting he sosorely missed. "Gramma Deebun do it?" suggested Robin quickly. "No: Grandma Dearborn has the rheumatism. She couldn't walkup-stairs. " "She got ze wizzim-tizzim, " echoed Robin solemnly. Then his facelighted up with a happy thought. "Nev' mind; Robin'll put Big Brotherto bed _all_ ze nights when he's a man. " And Big Brother kissed thesweet mouth and was comforted. During the summer Mr. Dearborn drove to town with fresh marketingevery morning, starting early in order to get home by noon. Saturdayshe took Steven with him, for that was the day he supplied his buttercustomers. The first time the boy made the trip he carried Mrs. Estel's addressin his pocket, which he had carefully copied from the fly-leaf of thebook she had given him. Although he had not the remotest expectationof seeing her, there was a sense of companionship in the mere thoughtthat she was in the same town with him. He watched the lamp-posts carefully as they went along, spelling outthe names of the streets. All of a sudden his heart gave a bound. Theyhad turned a corner and were driving along Fourth Avenue. He took theslip of paper from his pocket. Yes, he was right. That was the name ofthe street. Then he began to watch for the numbers. 200, 300, 400;they passed on several more blocks. Mr. Dearborn drove up to thepavement and handed him the reins to hold, while he took the crock ofbutter into the house. Steven glanced up at the number. It was 812. Then the next one--no, the one after that--must be the place. It was a large, elegant house, handsomer than any they had passed onthe avenue. As long as it was in sight Steven strained his eyes for abackward look, but saw no one. Week after week he watched and waited, but the blinds were alwaysclosed, and he saw no signs of life about the place. Then one day hesaw a carriage stop at the gate. A lady all in black stepped out andwalked slowly towards the house. Her long, heavy veil hid her face, but he thought he recognized her. He was almost sure it was Mrs. Estel. He could hardly resist the inclination to run after her andspeak to her; but while he hesitated the great hall door swung backand shut her from sight. He wondered what great trouble had come toher that she should be dressed in deep black. The hope of seeing her was the only thing about his weekly trips totown that he anticipated with any pleasure. It nearly always happenedthat some time during the morning while he was gone Robin got intotrouble. Nobody seemed to think that the reason the child was usuallyso good was due largely to Steven's keeping him happily employed. Healways tried to contrive something to keep him busy part of themorning; but Robin found no pleasure very long in solitary pursuits, and soon abandoned them. [Illustration] Once he took a ball of yarn from the darning-basket to roll after thewhite kitten. He did not mean to be mischievous any more than thewhite kitten did, but the ball was part of Grandma Dearborn's knittingwork. When she found the needles pulled out and the stitches dropped, she scolded him sharply. All her children had been grown up so longshe had quite forgotten how to make allowances for things of thatsort. There was a basket of stiff, highly colored wax fruit on themarble-topped table in the parlor. Miss Barbara Dearborn had made itat boarding-school and presented it to her sister-in-law many yearsbefore. How Robin ever managed to lift off the glass case withoutbreaking it no one ever knew. That he had done so was evident, for inevery waxen red-cheeked pear and slab-sided apple were the prints ofhis sharp little teeth. It seemed little short of sacrilege to Mrs. Dearborn, whose own children had regarded it for years from anadmiring distance, fearing to lay unlawful fingers even on the glasscase that protected such a work of art. He dropped a big white china button into the cake dough when Molly, "the help, " had her back turned. It was all ready to be baked, and sheunsuspectingly whisked the pan into the oven. Company came to tea, and Grandpa Dearborn happened to take the slice of cake that had thebutton in it. Manlike, he called everyone's attention to it, and hiswife was deeply mortified. He left the pasture gate open so that the calves got into the garden. He broke Grandpa Dearborn's shaving-mug, and spilled the lather allover himself and the lavender bows of the best pin-cushion. He untieda bag that had been left in the window to sun, to see what made itfeel so soft inside. It was a bag of feathers saved from the pickingsof many geese. He was considerably startled when the down flew in alldirections, sticking to carpet and curtains, and making Molly muchextra work on the busiest day in the week. But the worst time was when Steven came home to find him sitting in acorner, crying bitterly, one hand tied to his chair. He had been putthere for punishment. It seemed that busy morning that everything hetouched made trouble for somebody. At last his exploring littlefingers found the plug of the patent churn. The next minute he was awoebegone spectacle, with the fresh buttermilk pouring down on him, and spreading in creamy rivers all over the dairy floor. These weekly trips were times of great anxiety for Steven. He neverknew what fresh trouble might greet him on his return. One day they sold out much earlier than usual. It was only eleveno'clock when they reached home. Grandma Dearborn was busy preparingdinner. Robin was not in sight. As soon as Steven had helped tounhitch the horses he ran into the house to look for him. There was noanswer to his repeated calls. He searched all over the garden, thinking maybe the child was hiding from him and might jump out anymoment from behind a tree. He was beginning to feel alarmed when he saw two little bare feetslowly waving back and forth above the tall orchard grass. He slippedover the fence and noiselessly along under the apple-trees. Robin waslying on his stomach watching something on the ground so intently thatsometimes the bare feet forgot to wave over his back and were held upmotionless. With one hand he was pulling along at a snail's pace a green leaf, onwhich a dead bumble-bee lay in state. With the other he was keeping inorder a funeral procession of caterpillars. It was a motley crowd ofmourners that the energetic forefinger urged along the line of march. He had evidently collected them from many quarters, --little greenworms that spun down from the apple boughs overhead; big furry browncaterpillars that had hurried along the honeysuckle trellis to escapehis fat fingers; spotted ones and striped ones; horned and smooth. They all straggled along, each one travelling his own gait, each onebent on going a different direction, but all kept in line by thatshort determined forefinger. Steven laughed so suddenly that the little master of ceremonies jumpedup and turned a startled face towards him. Then he saw that there weretraces of tears on the dimpled face and one eye was swollen nearlyshut. "O Robin! what is it now?" he cried in distress. "How did you hurtyourself so dreadfully?" "Ole bumble!" answered Robin, pointing to the leaf. "He flied in zekitchen an' sat down in ze apple peelin's. I jus' poked him, nen heflied up and bit me. He's dead now, " he added triumphantly. "Grammakilled him. See all ze cattow-pillows walkin' in ze p'cession?" So the days slipped by in the old farmhouse. Frost nipped the gardens, and summer vanished entirely from orchard and field. The happyoutdoor life was at an end, and Robin was like a caged squirrel. Steven had his hands full keeping him amused and out of the way. "Well, my lad, isn't it about time for you to be starting to school?"Mr. Dearborn would ask occasionally. "You know I agreed to send youevery winter, and I must live up to my promises. " But Steven made first one pretext and then another for delay. He knewhe could not take Robin with him. He knew, too, how restless andtroublesome the child would become if left at home all day. So he could not help feeling glad when Molly went home on a visit, and Grandma Dearborn said her rheumatism was so bad that she neededhis help. True, he had all sorts of tasks that he heartilydespised, --washing dishes, kneading dough, sweeping and dusting, --allunder the critical old lady's exacting supervision. But he preferredeven that to being sent off to school alone every day. One evening, just about sundown, he was out in the corncrib, shellingcorn for the large flock of turkeys they were fattening for market. Heheard Grandma Dearborn go into the barn, where her husband wasmilking. They 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 upand 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 wintercovered every familiar object, and he thought, in his childish way, that last night's experience had altered his life as the snowdriftshad changed the landscape. He ate his breakfast and did up the morning chores mechanically. Heseemed to be in a dream, and wondered dully to himself why he did notcry when he felt so bad. When the work was all done he stood idly looking out of the window. Hewanted to get away from the house where everything he saw made hisheart ache with the suggestion of Robin. "I believe I'd like to go to church to-day, " he said in a listlesstone. [Illustration] "Yes, I'd go if I were you, " assented Mr. Dearborn readily. "Motherand me'll have to stay by the fire to-day, but I've no doubt it'llchirk you up a bit to get outdoors a spell. " He started off, plodding through the deep snow. "Takes it easier than I thought he would, " said Mr. Dearborn. "Well, troubles never set very hard on young shoulders. He'll get over it ina little while. " As Steven emerged from the lane into the big road he saw a sleighcoming towards him, driven by the doctor's son. As it drew nearer asudden thought came to him like an inspiration. "O Harvey!" he cried, running forward. "Will you take me with you asfar as Simpson's?" "Why, yes, I guess so, " answered the boy good-naturedly. He was not surprised at the request, knowing that Mrs. Dearborn andMrs. Simpson were sisters, and supposing that Steven had been sent onsome errand. It was three miles to the Simpson place, but they seemed to havereached it in as many minutes. Harvey turned off towards his own home, while Steven climbed out and hurried along the public road. "Half-way there!" he said to himself. He was going to town to findMrs. Estel. He was a long time on the way. A piercing wind began to blow, and ablinding snow-storm beat in his face. He was numb with cold, hungry, and nearly exhausted. But he thought of little Robin fifteen milesaway, crying at the strange faces around him; and for his sake hestumbled bravely on. He had seen Mrs. Dearborn's daughter several times. She was a kind, good-natured woman, half-way afraid of her husband. As for AradPierson himself, Steven had conceived a strong dislike. He wasquick-tempered and rough, with a loud, coarse way of speaking thatalways startled the sensitive child. Suppose Robin should refuse to be comforted, and his crying annoyedthem. Could that black-browed, heavy-fisted man be cruel enough towhip such a baby? Steven knew that he would. The thought spurred him on. It seemed to him that he had been days onthe road when he reached the house at last, and stood shivering on thesteps while he waited for some one to answer his timid ring. "No, you can't speak to Mrs. Estel, " said the pompous colored man whoopened the door, and who evidently thought that he had come on somebeggar's mission. "She never sees any one now, and I'm sure shewouldn't see you. " "Oh, _please_!" cried Steven desperately, as the door was about to beshut in his face. "She told me to come, and I've walked miles throughthe storm, and I'm so cold and tired! Oh, I _can't_ go back withoutseeing her. " His high, piercing voice almost wailed out the words. Had he come sofar only to be disappointed at last? "What is it, Alec?" he heard some one call gently. He recognized the voice, and in his desperation darted past the maninto the wide reception hall. He saw the sweet face of the lady, who came quickly forward, and heardher say, "Why, what is the matter, my child?" Then, overcome by the sudden change from the cold storm to thetropical warmth of the room, he dropped on the floor, exhausted andunconscious. It was a long time before Mrs. Estel succeeded in thoroughly revivinghim. Then he lay on a wide divan with his head on her lap, and talkedquietly of his trouble. He was too worn out to cry, even when he took the soft curls from hispocket to show her. But her own recent loss had made her vision keen, and she saw the depth of suffering in the boy's white face. As shetwisted the curls around her finger and thought of her own fair-hairedlittle one, with the deep snow drifting over its grave, her tears fellfast. She made a sudden resolution. "You shall come here, " she said. "Ithought when my little Dorothy died I could never bear to hear achild's voice again, knowing that hers was still. But such grief isselfish. We will help each other bear ours together. Would you like tocome, dear?" Steven sat up, trembling in his great excitement. "O Mrs. Estel!" he cried, "couldn't you take Robin instead? I could behappy anywhere if I only knew he was taken care of. You are sodifferent from the Piersons. I wouldn't feel bad if he was with you, and I could see him every week. He is so pretty and sweet you couldn'thelp loving him!" She stooped and kissed him. "You dear, unselfish child, you make mewant you more than ever. " Then she hesitated. She could not decide a matter involving so much ina moment's time. Steven, she felt, would be a comfort to her, butRobin could be only a care. Lately she had felt the mere effort ofliving to be a burden, and she did not care to make any exertion forany one else. All the brightness and purpose seemed to drop out of her life the daythat little Dorothy was taken away. Her husband had tried everythingin his power to arouse her from her hopeless despondency, but sherefused to be comforted. Steven's trouble had touched the first responsive chord. She lookeddown into his expectant face, feeling that she could not bear todisappoint him, yet unwilling to make a promise that involved personalexertion. Then she answered slowly, "I wish my husband were here. I cannot giveyou an answer without consulting him. Then, you see the society thatsent you out here probably has some written agreement with thesepeople, and if they do not want to give him up we might find it adifficult matter to get him. Mr. Estel will be home in a few days, andhe will see what can be done. " That morning when Steven had been seized with a sudden impulse to findMrs. Estel he had no definite idea of what she could do to help him. It had never occurred to him for an instant that she would offer totake either of them to live with her. He thought only of thatafternoon on the train, when her sympathy had comforted him so much, and of her words at parting: "If you ever need a friend, dear, or arein trouble of any kind, let me know and I will help you. " It was thatpromise that lured him on all that weary way through the coldsnow-storm. With a child's implicit confidence he turned to her, feeling that insome way or other she would make it all right. It was a greatdisappointment when he found she could do nothing immediately, andthat it might be weeks before he could see Robin again. Still, after seeing her and pouring out his troubles, he felt like adifferent boy. Such a load seemed lifted from his shoulders. Heactually laughed while repeating some of Robin's queer little speechesto her. Only that morning he had felt that he could not even smileagain. Dinner cheered him up still more. When the storm had abated, Mrs. Estel wrapped him up and sent him home in her sleigh, telling him thatshe wanted him to spend Thanksgiving Day with her. She thought shewould know by that time whether she could take Robin or not. At anyrate, she wanted him to come, and if he would tell Mr. Dearborn tobring her a turkey on his next market day, she would ask hispermission. All the way home Steven wondered nervously what the old people wouldsay to him. He dreaded to see the familiar gate, and the ride came toan end so very soon. To his great relief he found that they hadscarcely noticed his absence. Their only son and his family had comeunexpectedly from the next State to stay over Thanksgiving, andeverything else had been forgotten in their great surprise. The days that followed were full of pleasant anticipations for thefamily. Steven went in and out among them, helping busily with thepreparations, but strangely silent among all the merriment. Mr. Dearborn took his son to town with him the next market day, andSteven was left at home to wait and wonder what message Mrs. Estelmight send him. He hung around until after his usual bedtime, on their return, butcould not muster up courage to ask. The hope that had sprung upwithin him flickered a little fainter each new day, until it almostdied out. It was a happy group that gathered around the breakfast table early onThanksgiving morning. "All here but Rindy, " said Mr. Dearborn, looking with smiling eyesfrom his wife to his youngest grandchild. "It's too bad she couldn'tcome, but Arad invited all his folks to spend the day there; so shehad to give up and stay at home. Well, we're all alive and well, anyhow. That's my greatest cause for thankfulness. What's yours, Jane?" he asked, nodding towards his wife. As the question passed around the table, Steven's thoughts went backto the year before, when their little family had all been together. Heremembered how pretty his mother had looked that morning in herdark-blue dress. There was a bowl of yellow chrysanthemums blooming onthe table, and a streak of sunshine, falling across them and onRobin's hair, seemed to turn them both to gold. Now he was all alone. The contrast was too painful. He slipped from the table unobserved, and stole noiselessly up the back stairs to his room. The littlechecked apron was hanging on a chair by the window. He sat down andlaid his face against it, but his eyes were dry. He had not cried anysince that first dreadful night. There was such a lively clatter of dishes downstairs and babel ofvoices that he did not hear a sleigh drive up in the soft snow. "Steven, " called Mr. Dearborn from the foot of the stairs, "I promisedMrs. Estel to let you spend the day with her, but there was so muchgoin' on I plum forgot to tell you. You're to stay all night too, shesays. " The ride to town seemed endless to the impatient boy. He was burningwith a feverish anxiety to know about Robin, but the driver whom hequestioned could not tell. "Mrs. Estel will be down presently, " was the message with which he wasushered into the long drawing-room. He sat down uncomfortably on theedge of a chair to wait. He almost dreaded to hear her coming for fearshe might tell him that the Piersons would not give Robin up. Maybeher husband had not come home when she expected him. Maybe he had beentoo busy to attend to the matter. A dozen possible calamitiespresented themselves. Unconsciously he held himself so rigid in his expectancy that hefairly ached. Ten minutes dragged by, with only the crackle of thefire on the hearth to disturb the silence of the great room. Then light feet pattered down the stairs and ran across the broadhall. The _portière_ was pushed aside and a bright little face lookedin. In another instant Robin's arms were around his neck, and he wascrying over and over in an ecstasy of delight, "Oh, it's Big Brother!It's Big Brother!" Not far away down the avenue a great church organ was rolling out itsaccompaniment to a Thanksgiving anthem. Steven could not hear thewords the choir chanted, but the deep music of the organ seemed to himto be but the echo of what was throbbing in his own heart. There was no lack of childish voices and merry laughter in the greathouse that afternoon. A spirit of thanksgiving was in the veryatmosphere. No one could see the overflowing happiness of the childrenwithout sharing it in some degree. More than once during dinner Mrs. Estel looked across the table at herhusband and smiled as she had not in months. Along in the afternoon the winter sunshine tempted the children out ofdoors, and they commenced to build a snow man. They tugged away at thehuge image, with red cheeks and sparkling eyes, so full ofout-breaking fun that the passers-by stopped to smile at the sight. Mrs. Estel stood at the library window watching them. Once, whenRobin's fat little legs stumbled and sent him rolling over in thesnow, she could not help laughing at the comical sight. It was a low, gentle laugh, but Mr. Estel heard, and, laying aside hisnewspaper, joined her at the window. He had almost despaired of everseeing a return to the old sunny charm of face and manner. [Illustration] They stood there together in silence a few moments, watching the tworomping boys, who played on, unconscious of an audience. "What a rare, unselfish disposition that little 'Big Brother' has!"Mr. Estel said presently. "It shows itself even in their play. " Thenhe added warmly, turning to his wife, "Dora, it would be downrightcruel to send him away from that little chap. " He paused a moment. "We used to find our greatest pleasure in makingDorothy happy. We lavished everything on her. Now we can never doanything more for her. " There was another long pause, while he turned his head away and lookedout of the window. "Think what a lifelong happiness it is in our power to give thosechildren! Dora, can't we make room for both of them for her sake?" Mrs. Estel hesitated, then laid both her hands in his, bravely smilingback her tears. "Yes, I'll try, " she said, "for little Dorothy'ssake. " That night, as Steven undressed Robin and tucked him up snugly in thelittle white bed, he felt that nothing could add to his greathappiness. He sat beside him humming an old tune their mother hadoften sung to them, in the New Jersey home so far away. The blue eyes closed, but still he kept on humming softly to himself, "Oh, happy day! happy day!" Presently Mrs. Estel came in and drew a low rocking-chair up to thefire. Steven slipped from his place by Robin's pillow and sat down onthe rug beside her. Sitting there in the fire-light, she told him all about her visit tothe Piersons. They had found Robin so unmanageable and so differentfrom what they expected that they were glad to get rid of him. Mr. Estel had arranged matters satisfactorily with the Society, and theyhad brought Robin home several days ago. "I had a long talk with Mr. Dearborn the other day, " she continued. "He said his wife's health is failing, and their son is trying topersuade them to break up housekeeping and live with them. If she isno better in the spring, they will probably do so. " "Would they want me to go?" asked Steven anxiously. "It may be so; I cannot tell. " Steven looked up timidly. "I've been wanting all day to say thank you, the way I feel it; but somehow, the right words won't come. I can'ttell you how it is, but it seems 'most like sending Robin back homefor you and Mr. Estel to have him. Somehow, your ways and everythingseem so much like mamma's and papa's, and when I think about himhaving such a lovely home, oh, it just seems like this is aThanksgiving Day that will last _always_!" She drew his head against her knee and stroked it tenderly. "Then howwould you like to live here yourself, dear?" she asked. "Mr. Estelthinks that we need two boys. " "Oh, does he really want me, too? It's too good to be true!" Stevenwas kneeling beside her now, his eyes shining like stars. "Yes, we both want you, " answered Mrs. Estel. "You shall be our ownlittle sons. " Steven crept nearer. "Papa and mamma will be so glad, " he said in atremulous whisper. Then a sudden thought illuminated his earnest face. "O Mrs. Estel! Don't you suppose they have found little Dorothy inthat other country by this time, and are taking care of her there, just like you are taking care of us here?" She put her arm around him, and drew him nearer, saying: "My dearlittle comfort, it may be so. If I could believe that, I could neverfeel so unhappy again. " Robin and "ze black dancin' bear" were not the only ones tuckedtenderly away to sleep that night. The sleigh bells jingled along the avenue. Again the great churchorgan rolled out a mighty flood of melody, that ebbed and flowed onthe frosty night air. And Big Brother, with his head pillowed once more beside Robin's, laywith his eyes wide open, too happy to sleep--lay and dreamed of thetime when he should be a man, and could gather into the great house hemeant to own all the little homeless ones in the wide world; all thesorry little waifs that strayed through the streets of great cities, that crowded in miserable tenements, that lodged in asylums andpoorhouses. Into his child's heart he gathered them all, with a sweetunselfishness that would have gladly shared with every one of them hisnew-found home and happiness. * * * * *