“Don’t you hope Ben will get his bag full?  We shall have such fun eating nuts evenings,” observed Bab, wrapping her arms in her apron, for it was October now, and the air was growing keen.

“Yes, and Ma says we may boil some in our little kettles.  Ben promised we should have half,” answered Betty, still intent on her cookery.

“I shall save some of mine for Thorny.”

“I shall keep lots of mine for Miss Celia.”

“Doesn’t it seem more than two weeks since she went away?”

“I wonder what she’ll bring us.”

Before Bab could conjecture, the sound of a step and a familiar whistle made both look expectantly toward the turn in the road, all ready to cry out with one voice, “How many have you got?” Neither spoke a word, however, for the figure which presently appeared was not Ben, but a stranger,—­a man who stopped whistling, and came slowly on, dusting his shoes in the way-side grass, and brushing the sleeves of his shabby velveteen coat as if anxious to freshen himself up a bit.

“It’s a tramp, let’s run away,” whispered Betty, after a hasty look.

“I aint afraid,” and Bab was about to assume her boldest look when a sneeze spoiled it, and made her clutch the gate to hold on.

At that unexpected sound the man looked up, showing a thin, dark face, with a pair of sharp, black eyes, which surveyed the little girls so steadily that Betty quaked, and Bab began to wish she had at least jumped down inside the gate.

“How are you?” said the man with a good-natured nod and smile, as if to re-assure the round-eyed children staring at him.

“Pretty well, thank you, sir,” responded Bab, politely nodding back at him.

“Folks at home?” asked the man, looking over their heads toward the house.

“Only Ma; all the rest are gone to be married.”

“That sounds lively.  At the other place all the folks had gone to a funeral,” and the man laughed as he glanced at the big house on the hill.

“Why, do you know the Squire?” exclaimed Bab, much surprised and re-assured.

“Come on purpose to see him.  Just strolling round till he gets back,” with an impatient sort of sigh.

“Betty thought you was a tramp, but I wasn’t afraid.  I like tramps ever since Ben came,” explained Bab, with her usual candor.

“Who’s Ben?” and the man came nearer so quickly that Betty nearly fell backward.  “Don’t you be scared, Sissy.  I like little girls, so you set easy and tell me about Ben,” he added, in a persuasive tone, as he leaned on the gate, so near that both could see what a friendly face he had in spite of its eager, anxious look.

“Ben is Miss Celia’s boy.  We found him almost starved in the coach-house, and he’s been living near here ever since,” answered Bab, comprehensively.

“Tell me all about it.  I like tramps too,” and the man looked as if he did, very much, as Bab told the little story in a few childish words that were better than a much more elegant account.