boy spoke proudly, and Mr. Devering said almost irritably, "Oh! forget that, my boy. There's nothing in it now."

The boy looked surprised. "And may I go out alone now and speak to strangers?"

"Certainly, certainly," said Mr. Devering hurriedly.

"Then why," began Dallas, but Mr. Devering interrupted him. "All that is over. Nobody wants to carry you off. Please put it out of your mind. You are of no consequence to anyone except your family."

The boy's face fell, and I saw that he was a bit disappointed. He had been making a little hero of himself. Now he had found out that he wasn't worth carrying away.

I was sorry for him, and I saw that there was some mystery here to be explained in the future. I have lived in many interesting families and I love mysteries and histories. I had something now to turn over in my pony mind. This place would be no longer dull to me, but I must listen to Mr. Devering, who was speaking again. "You have had a peculiar life up to this, but I think it will be more normal in future and I may say that I have for a long time wished you to come here."

"Do you live here all the time?" asked the boy.

"Yes, this is our home, though we travel a good deal. How do you like it?"

The boy seemed to find it hard to answer. At last he said, "Do you wish me to speak politely or truthfully?"

"Truthfully, by all means."

"Well, sir—I find it ghostly and lonely."

Mr. Devering repeated the words, "Ghostly and lonely." Then he broke into a hearty laugh. "And I'm lonely only when I'm in cities pushing my way among crowds of weary people who don't care a rap whether I'm dead or alive."

"Do you love the trees, sir?" asked Dallas, "these startling green monsters?"

"I worship them, boy. They come next the animals with me. This one here is Little Sister," and he threw his arm round a slender silver birch. "And that maple," said Mr. Devering, pointing to the one where the catbird was still sitting. "Doesn't it look like a slender young living thing swaying there in the wind? See how it bends its pretty head and waves its green arms toward us. Can't you throw it a pleasant glance, boy?"

I was amused with the play of the boy's brown eyebrows. "I might love a maple," he said, "but those big pines and stiff spruces——" and he shivered.

"My soldier brothers," said Mr. Devering, "so straight and sturdy, guarding my property and reaching up their heads to heaven. Do you know what they are begging for, boy?"

"No, sir."

"Rain, rain and always more rain. Have you been told what happens in countries like China where foolish people have been allowed to cut down the trees?"

"Oh, yes, yes," said the boy. "I remember now. My teacher used to tell me trees keep the soil moist and attract rainfalls. Oh! I don't mind a few, sir, but these endless forests appal me."

"You'll get over that. I'll soon have you a regular backwoodsman. Come up Deer Trail with me now and help me look for a missing lamb."

I had heard the boy say that he was lame from his long drive, but he did not tell this to the man, and prepared to follow him quite bravely.

"May this little beastie go too, sir?" he asked, pointing to me.

"Certainly, the more beasts the merrier for me."

CHAPTER III THREE FRIENDS ON DEER TRAIL

I trotted after them and the boy looking over his shoulder at me said, "Is he yours, sir?"

"Yes, I got him as a present for a boy."

"One of your boys, sir—that is, if those children over there belong to you."

Mr. Devering fell behind Dallas and made a forbidding gesture with his hand toward the children. I guessed that he was keeping them back so that he might for some reason or other have this lad to himself for awhile.

"Yes," he said, catching up to Dallas, "those are my children."

"How many, sir?"

"Six."

"And they have a mother?"

"Oh! yes."

The boy's head was drooping thoughtfully. "There is a big brick house next door to us in the city," he said. "Every night I look across the lane and see the children going to bed. The maid undresses them and then the mother comes in and takes them in her arms and rocks and sings to them. So whenever I think of my mother there is a lovely sound of singing in my ears. Was she a fine singer, sir?"

"She was," said the man softly. Then he asked, "Does your father never speak of her, nor those faithful servants John and Margie?"

"Never, sir; I used to ask questions about her, but they looked so sad that I gave it up. I fear her death had something painful about it."

Mr. Devering turned his eyes away from the boy toward me, they looked very troubled. Then he spoke quietly, "Some day I will take it upon myself to tell you all about your dear mother."

"You knew her?" cried the boy.

"Very well."

Dallas stopped short. His wonderful pale eyes were blazing. "You—knew—my—mother," he said in a low trembling voice.

"I have said so," remarked Mr. Devering quietly.

"I am glad I came," he said slowly. "Some boys have mothers, some have not. Some boys miss their mothers, some do not. I tell you, sir, it is a sore in my soul, a dreadful painful sore that I have no mother. If she had lived I would be like other boys."

The man put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "My lad," he said, "a great deal lies between you and me, but this is not the time to thrash things out. A day will come—later on."

It went to my heart to see the young lip tremble. Boys do not like to wait. "I hope—I hope," he muttered to himself, "that the day will soon come. If a boy has had a mother, he should know about her. I—I have not even a little picture of my dear mother, who of course was beautiful and good and loved her boy as no one else does."

Mr. Devering looked at him anxiously, then he said, "To come back to the pony—he is not for one of my boys, he is for a guest."

"Oh, indeed," said Dallas absently. "So you expect another boy."

"Not this summer—the pony is for your use."

"For me!" he exclaimed. "Is this a joke?"

"Decidedly not. My children all have ponies. I wished you to have one."

"For my very own," he gasped, "this wonderful creature," and he suddenly threw his arm over my back as I pulled up closer to him, feeling oh! so glad that this gentle lad was to be my master.

"For your own if you treat him properly. I never give an animal outright till I see how it is used. If you neglect Pony, I shall take him back. If you are good to him, he belongs to you."

The boy was so excited that he could scarcely breathe. One trembling hand remained on my back, the other clutched his crumpled shirt front. "You are a prince among men," he said at last in a choked voice.

"I wish I were," said Mr. Devering humbly. "I am only a commoner."

The boy flung up his handsome head and looked at the blue sky. "Margie is most religious. She said Providence was guiding my steps here."

"Let us hope so," said Mr. Devering reverently; "I, too, believe in Providence, which is another name for God."

"Margie goes much to church and sings many hymns," said the boy.

"I heard you singing just now," observed Mr. Devering.

My master looked frightened. "Did you mind?"

"Not a bit—why should I?"

"My father never allows me to sing at home."

Again a dark look came over the man's face. He might like my young master's father, but he evidently did not approve of all he did.

"You may sing just as much as you wish here," he said; "singing