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When bedtime came, Miss Salome took Chester up to a room whose whiteness and daintiness quite took away the breath of a lad who had been used to sleeping in garrets or hired men’s kitchen chambers all his life. Later on Miss Salome came in to see if he was comfortable, and stood, with her candle in her hand, looking down very kindly at the thin, shrewd little face on the pillow.

“I hope you’ll sleep real well here, Chester,” she said. “I had a little boy once who used to sleep here. You–you look like him. Good night.”

She bent over him and kissed his forehead. Chester had never been kissed by anyone before, so far as he could remember. Something came up in his throat that felt about as big as a pumpkin. At the same moment he wished he could have told Miss Salome the whole truth about himself. I might tell her in the morning, he thought, as he watched her figure passing out of the little porch chamber.

But on second thought he decided that this would never do. He felt sure she would disapprove of his running away, and would probably insist upon his going straight back to Upton or, at least, informing Aunt Harriet of his whereabouts. No, he could not tell her.

Clemantiny was an early riser, but when she came into the kitchen the next morning the fire was already made and Chester was out in the yard with three of the five cows milked.

“Humph!” said Clemantiny amiably. “New brooms sweep clean.”

But she gave him cream with his porridge that morning. Generally, all Miss Salome’s hired hands got from Clemantiny was skim milk.

Miss Salome’s regular hired man lived in a little house down in the hollow. He soon turned up, and the other two men she had hired for harvest also arrived. Martin, the man, looked Chester over quizzically.

“What do you think you can do, sonny?”

“Anything,” said Chester sturdily. “I’m used to work.”

“He’s right,” whispered Clemantiny aside. “He’s smart as a steel trap. But just you keep an eye on him all the same, Martin.”

Chester soon proved his mettle in the harvest field. In the brisk three weeks that followed, even Clemantiny had to admit that he earned every cent of his wages. His active feet were untiring and his wiry arms could pitch and stock with the best. When the day’s work was ended, he brought in wood and water for Clemantiny, helped milk the cows, gathered the eggs, and made on his own responsibility a round of barns and outhouses to make sure that everything was snug and tight for the night.

“Freckles-and-Bones has been well trained somewhere,” said Clemantiny again.

It was hardly fair to put the bones in now, for Chester was growing plump and hearty. He had never been so happy in his life. Upton drudgery and that dreadful week in Montrose seemed like a bad dream. Here, in the golden meadows of Mount Hope Farm, he worked with a right good will. The men liked him, and he soon became a favourite with them. Even Clemantiny relented somewhat. To be sure, she continued very grim, and still threw her words at him as if they were so many missiles warranted to strike home. But Chester soon learned that Clemantiny’s bark was worse than her bite. She was really very good to him and fed him lavishly. But she declared that this was only to put some flesh on him.

“It offends me to see bones sticking through anybody’s skin like that. We aren’t used to such objects at Mount Hope Farm, thank goodness. Yes, you may smile, Salome. I like him well enough, and I’ll admit that he knows how to make himself useful, but I don’t trust him any more than ever I did. He’s mighty close about his past life. You can’t get any more out of him than juice out of a post. I’ve tried, and I know.”