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“You’re not to do any talking until you’ve had something to eat,” snapped Clemantiny inconsistently. “Here, open your mouth and take this broth. Pretty doings, I say!”

Clemantiny spoke as sharply as Aunt Harriet had ever done, but somehow or other Chester did not feel afraid of her and her black eyes. She sat down by his side and fed him from the bowl of hot broth with a deft gentleness oddly in contrast with her grim expression.

Chester thought he had never in all his life tasted anything so good as that broth. The boy was really almost starved. He drank every drop of it. Clemantiny gave a grunt of satisfaction as she handed the empty bowl and spoon to the silent, smiling Miss Salome.

“Now, who are you and what do you want?” she said.

Chester had been expecting this question, and while coming along the Hopedale road he had thought out an answer to it. He began now, speaking the words slowly and gaspingly, as if reciting a hastily learned lesson.

“My name is Chester Benson. I belong to Upton up the country. My folks are dead and I came to Montrose to look for work, I’ve been there a week and couldn’t get anything to do. I heard a man say that you wanted men to help in the harvest, so I came out to see if you’d hire me.”

In spite of his weakness, Chester’s face turned very red before he got to the end of his speech. He was new to deception. To be sure, there was not, strictly speaking, an untrue word in it. As for his name, it was Chester Benson Stephens. But for all that, Chester could not have felt or looked more guilty if he had been telling an out-and-out falsehood at every breath.

“Humph!” said Clemantiny in a dissatisfied tone. “What on earth do you suppose a midget like you can do in the harvest field? And we don’t want any more help, anyway. We’ve got enough.”

Chester grew sick with disappointment. But at this moment Miss Salome spoke up.

“No, we haven’t, Clemantiny. We want another hand, and I’ll hire you, Chester–that’s your name, isn’t it? I’ll give you good wages, too.”

“Now, Salome!” protested Clemantiny.

But Miss Salome only said, “I’ve made up my mind, Clemantiny.”

Clemantiny knew that when Miss Salome did make up her mind and announced it in that very quiet, very unmistakable tone, she was mistress of the situation and intended to remain so.

“Oh, very well,” she retorted. “You’ll please yourself, Salome, of course. I think it would be wiser to wait until you found out a little more about him.”

“And have him starving on people’s doorsteps in the meantime?” questioned Miss Salome severely.

“Well,” returned Clemantiny with the air of one who washes her hands of a doubtful proposition, “don’t blame me if you repent of it.”

By this time Chester had grasped the wonderful fact that his troubles were ended–for a while, at least. He raised himself up on one arm and looked gratefully at Miss Salome.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll work hard. I’m used to doing a lot.”

“There, there!” said Miss Salome, patting his shoulder gently. “Lie down and rest. Dinner will be ready soon, and I guess you’ll be ready for it.”

To Clemantiny she added in a low, gentle tone, “There’s a look on his face that reminded me of Johnny. It came out so strong when he sat up just now that it made me feel like crying. Don’t you notice it, Clemantiny?”

“Can’t say that I do,” replied that energetic person, who was flying about the kitchen with a speed that made Chester’s head dizzy trying to follow her with his eyes. “All I can see is freckles and bones–but if you’re satisfied, I am. For law’s sake, don’t fluster me, Salome. There’s a hundred and one things to be done out of hand. This frolic has clean dundered the whole forenoon’s work.”