"
Betty caught his arm and drew him nearer. "Why, that's where Champe lives!"
she cried. "I don't like Champe much, do you?"
"I never saw him," replied the boy; "but I don't like him--"
"He's mighty good," said Betty, honestly; then, as she looked at the boy
again, she caught her breath quickly. "You do look terribly hungry," she
added.
"I haven't had anything since--since yesterday."
The little girl thoughtfully tapped her toes on the road. "There's a
currant pie in the safe," she said. "I saw Uncle Shadrach put it there. Are
you fond of currant pie?--then you just wait!"
She ran up the carriage way to the dining-room window, and the boy sat down
on the rock and buried his face in his hands. His feet were set stubbornly
in the road, and the bundle lay beside them. He was dumb, yet disdainful,
like a high-bred dog that has been beaten and turned adrift.
As the returning patter of Betty's feet sounded in the drive, he looked up
and held out his hands. When she gave him the pie, he ate almost wolfishly,
licking the crumbs from his fingers, and even picking up a bit of crust
that had fallen to the ground.
"I'm sorry there isn't any more," said the little girl. It had seemed a
very large pie when she took it from the safe.
The boy rose, shook himself, and swung his bundle across his arm.
"Will you tell me the way?" he asked, and she gave him a few childish
directions. "You go past the wheat field an' past the maple spring, an' at
the dead tree by Aunt Ailsey's cabin you turn into the road with the
chestnuts.
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