The Press., 1883-06-28

ssThank you for my supper" said he. tsMaybe I'd best be getting along. You don't want a boy to work, do you P
 "A boy-to work r echoed Prudence. | ssDid ever r
 "No. we don't," said Miss Abigail short ly And-then it was strange enough that she could not help thinking again of that frail little life which had blighted in the bud SO long before.
 s'How far are you going ?" she asked.
 "I don't know, ma'am.
 "And where have you come from? ?" pro- eeeded Miss Abigail.
 seTrescott, ma'am. Mother died there three months ago." There was pathetic culver in his voice.
 And then. with little questioning, he told his simple story. His name was Bar ry Olmsted, and he was twelve years old. He had lived in Prescott long time-he and his mother, they were very poor, but they had kept little home together. His mother had taken ill sewing, and he had worked for the neighboring farmers sum- mers, and had gone to school winters. And he had been happy, for all they were SO poor. until-mother died.
 aThen stopped with Deacon Staples 8 Y they were going to blnd me out to hln' and so ran away"
 "None to blame, nuther," interposed Prudence, with great deal of emphasls. I "Ive seen old Staples down to Prescott. II He's that mean he'd skin mouse for hls }hide and tallow r | "Ive been trying along for chance to work" continued the boy, smiling falntly; He was very near to tears now, but he heid them back sturdily. "But there don't any body seem to want me-" 1 Miss Abigail was moved more than she would have cared to own by this recital. Even to her. who had lived for self so long, their was something indescribably pltltul lin the thought of this little wanderer, bat ttling alone with the world, butteted Dy fortune drifting here or there as chance might dictate It had grown dark now, the lamps had long since been lighted land there were mutterlngs ot distant tnun- der in the air. .,
 "Its going to rain," said Miss Abigail. "You needn't go tonight; you may sleep in the stable loft.
 II Barry thanked her.
 The storm broke with great violence. I And while MissAbigail listened to the sharp lpeals of thunder and to the pouring ot the I rain against the windows she thought of the lonely little wayfarer in the stable loft with new, strange throb of pity. Morn ing came, merry with bird song and glis. tenine with myriads of rain-drops. Pru- dence was up betimes, but early as 1t was, she heard the sound of the axe in the woodshed, and when she opened the door Barry smiled at her from his post by the chopping block.
 s'I don't think I paid enough for my supper-eat such a lot, '' he said "so I've split some kindlings, and I'll milk for you this morning if you want me to-"
 Prudence brought the milk pail without word. But when she had prepared Miss Abigail's morning meal, she made ready a good substantial breakfast for Barry also. When he had eaten it he took up his hat crown.
 s'Go out the way you come in, said Prudence. " r else you'll bring bad luck. ''
 Barry gave little inoredulous laugh, but he went out to the porch. Miss Ab- igail was there taking deep breaths of the fresh air, and she bade him kind "good morning. as he went off the step and down the path again between the lilacs, exuberant in growth but meager in bloom.
 "I wonder why my lilacs, do not flower moro freely" This Miss Abigail said to Prudence, who had followed to the door. "I dunno" answered Prudence.
 Barry heard. and turned. "I guess its because you leave the old blossoms on, he said, hesitatingly. 'Mother used to say must pick the blossoms off one year if wanted any next"
 And he went out of the gate, closing ii carefully behind him, and along the moist brown highway. :, 'That is very uncommon boy, said Miss Abigail, looking after him with se- rious eyes.
 "Yes," assented Prudence, "he's aclevel 'nough little chap for a boy"
 ''To think of his knowing about the Il. lacs," continued Miss Abigail, meditative. ly. "I must cut off the flowers this spring"
 -"An' he got as good a mess O milk from the heifer as I could ha' done myself with 8 well hand" Prudence went on.
 "Yes, he would have been handy about milking and getting the wood for you, said Miss Abigail.
 "An' bringin' the letters from the post ofice," proceeded Prudence. ''Its good piece over to the villagein in muddy walkin'. 2
 "So it is," said Miss Abigail. She gazed refectively along the road which wound, serpentine, to the little hamlet g mile away. Barry was climbing the hill 8 mere, pitiful, lonely speck in the dis tance, as he was mere, insignificant atom in the great body of humanity. Miss Ab igail's eyes filled.
 "We might have kept him." she said.
 ''Tain't too late yit P put in Prudence
 The two women looked into each others eyes, A. .g
 elf you could make him hear," began Miss Abigail. .-....
 For answer Prudence strode to the road and sent long qnavering cry after Barry "B-o-o-oy! P
 But the little figure they were watching plodded steadily on..
 "Gimme the ole tin horn outer the kitchen, Miss Abigail P called Prudence exoitedly. ...s "Quick :'' Miss Abigail, staid spinster that she was, without thought of the ludicrous ness of the proceeding, ran to the kitchen snatched the horn from its nail and ra1