to hammer so loudly on his anvil that further conversation was impossible. Though fast friends, their intercourse was often stormy.
He let the smith feel the weight of his gaze for a few moments, before he moved on with dignity along the straggling street. At the Wigles' cottage he stopped. Muriel, as usual, was swinging on the gate. He brought it to a standstill so abruptly that the little girl fell off. Before she could begin to cry, Wakefield took her by the hand and said: "Come along, Muriel. I'm going to take you with me for a treat."
The door of the cottage opened and Mrs. Wigle stuck out her head.
"Muriel!" she called. "Don't you dare leave the yard! Come back here this instant moment!"
"But he'th taking me out for a treat!" whined Muriel. "I want to go out for a treat!"
"Treat nothing," retorted her mother. "The last time he took you out for a treat you came home in rags and tatters. Treats may be fun for him, but he ain't going to take my daughter to 'em!"
Wakefield listened to this tirade with a reproachful air.
"Mrs. Wigle," he said, "it wasn't my fault that Muriel fell in the stream, and the old sheep tossed her about, and the burrs got in her hair. I did what I could to save her. But I'd forgotten the sheep's name, and she won't come for any other name but her own. You see, all our animals have names, we make such pets of them."
Mrs. Wigle came down the path, her arms rolled in her apron. She looked somewhat mollified.
"Where did you plan to take her this morning?" she asked.
"Only to Mrs. Brawn's shop to buy her something nice to eat."
"Well, fetch her straight back here afterward. And there's one thing I wish you'd tell me. Have you ever heard your brother say aught about mending my roof? It leaks into the best room like all possessed every time it rains."
Wakefield knitted his slender black brows. "I've
