of bass into the lilt Galbraith was whistling. With the relief his own boyishness awakened and the habitual propensity to do something kind, he left Galbraith squatted on the ground with his ants, and hurried on to a little wooden shanty, which was set down, like all Manasquan houses, in the middle of the cedars.
"The little chap's been at work since dawn. I'll build his fire for him," pushing open the door and going in. In a few moments a pile of wood was crackling on the hearth, and George, rubbing his hands, came out, and waving his hat to Dallas, who came slowly up the path, turned off towards the far farm-houses. In a moment, however, the boy was panting after him.
"That was downright good in you, Mr. Laddoun. Come back and eat your supper with me. I've made a broiler for crabs, and it's famous; you ought to taste them these cold nights," pulling at his coat while he spoke.
"I can't, Dallas; I'll send some of the boys down, though."
"All right! Tell them I have the crabs."
Doctor Noanes, in his buggy, meanwhile had driven up and stopped. "Take a seat, Laddoun; I'll give you a lift. That's an honest-faced boy," when Galbraith was gone. "Yet there are queer stories afloat about him," with a side glance at his companion's face. It was imperturbable.
"What sort of stories?"
"That you picked him out of some den of corruption. That he has a tolerable black record, if one could see it."
"Any place outside of Manasquan is a den of corruption, according to the talk here," with a rage which struck the shrewd old doctor as too sudden to be real. "As for Dallas, you can see for yourself what he is. There's not many men could make a place for themselves, as he's done, in this village. And he's bare sixteen."
"He's got to be a necessary sort of fellow to everybody, that's true," warmly. "I don't know his equal for nursing, or coddling children. There be my Joe, now; when he was down with the scarlet fever, nobody would serve him but 'Dallas—Dallas.' So I sent for the fellow, and I'll say this, that under God he saved the boy. There be no woman about our house, you know, and he took the place of one. Still, I thought I'd mention the queer stories to you. You'd best contradict them."
"You are very kind."
But Noanes remembered afterwards that he did not contradict them to him, but remained gloomily silent during the remainder of the drive.
CHAPTER II.
Galbraith meanwhile went back to his house, and prepared to spend the evening. It was but a little, broken down shanty, that had been used by one of the Sutphens as a cow-shed, until it was too far gone for that, when he had given it to Dallas for his help in harvesting. The half dozen boys of the village had collected and made a regular frolic of helping him patch it up, and it had been a sort of rendezvous for them ever since, as Dallas was their leader. He kept a watch for some of them now, while he put away his basket and cases in a damp out-shed, and pulled off his clog shoes, running to the door between-times to peep down the winding paths which now began to shine white in the night. Then he disappeared into the shed, and after a prodigious noise of splashing in a tub of water, came out with his toilette made. A queer enough looking figure when the best was done: no wonder Laddoun had laughed, for the clean flannel shirt had belonged to a much smaller man, and gaped open at the neck and ran up the arms, leaving bare the broad white throat and brawny wrists: the patched trousers, too, were cut off by the knee, and met by a long pair of women's gray stockings. But Dallas had some odd notions, picked up in that mysterious outside world from which he came, which puzzled the two or three Manasquan boys with whom he ran.
