Mr. Hobart was a man of kindly deeds.  More than that, he was a Christian.  As he stood talking with the stranger lad the words of the Master ran through his mind:  “The poor ye have with ye always, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good.”

Certainly here was an opportunity to help a friendless boy.  It should not be thrown away.

“How would you like to engage yourself to me for the fall and winter?  These boys are all going off to-morrow, and I need a boy about your size to run errands and help me with the chores.”

“Really?  Honest?”

“Yes, really I do.  I want a good boy who will obey me and my wife, and I have an idea that you may suit.”

“I’ll try to, sir.”

“Then jump into that boat and help us fish and I’ll take you home with me to-night.”

Sam cast a farewell glance at his raft, just then floating out of sight.  He had nothing else to take leave of, and no further arrangements to make; no packing to do and no baggage to carry.  He had simply himself and the few clothes he wore.  At evening he went home with Mr. Hobart in the most matter-of-course way.  When the load of fishermen drew up at the barn-door he jumped out and began to unhitch as though that had been his lifelong work.

Mrs. Hobart, coming out to give a welcome to the chattering group, appeared rather puzzled as she counted heads in the twilight.  Mr. Hobart enjoyed the surprise which he had been expecting.

“Yes, wife,” said he aside, answering her thoughts, “I took out six this morning and I’ve brought back seven to-night.  We’ve been for a day’s fishing, you know, and I rather guess I’ve caught something more valuable than bass or perch, though they’re good enough in their way.”

“Where did you find him?” asked Mrs. Hobart.

“Sitting on a raft out on the lake.”

“He’s a poor, homeless fellow, and I reckon that there’s room in our house for one of Christ’s little ones.  Isn’t that so, wife?”

“Yes, Reuben, it is.”

“Then we’ll do the best we can for this young chap.  I mean to write to his parents, for he has given me their address.  I think there will be no trouble in arranging to have him stay with us.  We’ll see what we can make out of him.”

“Reuben, I believe you’re always looking out for a chance to do some good!”

“That’s the way it ought to be, wife.”

This conversation took place behind the carryall.  None of the boys heard it.  The six visitors, however, all caught the spirit of benevolence from their host.  Before departing next day each one had contributed from his wardrobe some article of clothing for Sam, and they all showered him with good wishes as they left.

“Hope to find you here next summer,” they shouted in driving off.

“Hope so,” responded Sam.

Why Charlie Didn’t Go.

BY MARY JOANNA PORTER.

“Dear me!  There come Uncle Josh and Aunt Jane, and not a bed in the house is made!” Mrs. Upton glanced nervously at the clock—­then about to strike eleven—­surveyed with dismay the disordered kitchen, looked through the open door into the dining-room, where the unwashed breakfast dishes were yet standing, took her hands out of the dough and ran to wash them at the faucet.