Letty sat on the doorstep one breezy summer day, looking down the road and wishing with all her heart that something pleasant would happen. She often did this; and one of her earliest delights when a lonely child was to sit there with a fairy book upon her knee, waiting and watching in all good faith for something wonderful to happen.

In those days, Cinderella's golden coach dashing round the corner to carry her away was the favorite dream; but at eighteen one thinks more of the prince than either golden coach or splendid ball. But no prince as yet had cut his way through the grove of "laylocks" round the gate, and the little beauty still dreamed waking dreams on the doorstep, with her work forgotten in her lap.

Behind her in the quaint, quiet room Aunt Liddy dozed in her easy chair, the clock ticked, the bird chirped, old Bran snapped lazily at the flies, and nothing else broke the hush that brooded over the place. It was always so, and Letty often felt as if an earthquake would be a blessed relief to the dreadful monotony of her life.

To-day it was peculiarly trying, for a slight incident had ruffled the calm; and, though it lasted but a moment, it had given Letty a glimpse into that lovely "new world which is the old." A carriage containing a gay young couple on their honeymoon trip had stopped at the gate, for the bride had a fancy for a draught from the mossy well, and the bridegroom blandly demanded that her whim be gratified.

Letty served them, and while one pretty girl slaked her thirst the other watched her with admiring eyes and a tender interest, touched by envy. It was all over in a minute. Then bonny bride and enamoured bridegroom rolled away on that enchanted journey which is taken but once in a lifetime, leaving a cloud of dust behind and a deeper discontent in Letty's heart.

With a long sigh she had gone back to her seat, and, closing her eyes upon a world that could offer her so little, fell a-dreaming again, till a rough voice startled her wide awake.

"I say, miss, can you give a poor fellow a bite and a sup?"

Opening her eyes, she saw a sturdy tramp leaning over the low gate, so ragged, dusty, worn, and weary that she forgave the look of admiration in the bold black eyes which had been fixed on her longer than she knew. Before she could answer, however, Aunt Liddy, a hospitable old soul, called out from within,—

"Certin, certin. Set right down on the doorstep and rest a spell, while we see what we can do about vittles."

Letty vanished into the pantry, and the man threw himself down in the shady porch, regardless of Bran's suspicious growl. He pulled off his hat, stretched out his tired limbs, and leaned his rough head back among the woodbine leaves, with a long breath, as if nearly spent.

When Letty brought him a plate of bread and meat, he took it from her so eagerly and with such a ravenous look that she shrank back involuntarily. Seeing which he said, with a poor attempt at a laugh,—

"You needn't be afraid. I look like a rough customer; but I won't hurt you.

"Lawful sakes! We ain't no call to be afraid of no one, though we be lone women; for Bran is better'n a dozen men. A lamb to them he knows; but let any one try to pester Letty, and I never see a fercer beast," said Aunt Liddy, as the girl went back for more food, seeing the stranger's need.

"He knows I'm all right, and makes friends at once, you see," answered the tramp, with a satisfied nod, as Bran, after a brief investigation, sat down beside him, with a pacific wag of the tail.

"Well, I never! He don't often do that to strangers. Guess you're fond of dumb critters," said Aunt Liddy, much impressed by Bran's unusual condescension.

"They've been my best friends, and I don't forget it," returned the man, giving the dog a bone, though half-starved himself.

Something in the tone, the act, touched Letty's tender heart, and made her own voice very sweet and cordial as she said,—

"Please have some milk. It's nice and cold."

The tramp put up both hands to take the bowl, and as he did so looked into a face so full of compassion that it seemed like an angel's leaning down to comfort a lost and weary soul. Hard as life had been to the poor fellow, it had not spoiled him yet, as was plainly proved by the change that softened his whole face like magic, and trembled in the voice that said, as if it were a sort of grace, "God bless you, Miss," as he bent his head and drank.

Only a look of human sympathy and human gratitude; yet, in the drawing of a breath, it cast out Letty's fear, and made the stranger feel as if he had found friends, for it was the touch of Nature that makes the whole world kin. Every one seemed to feel its influence. Bran turned his benevolent eyes approvingly from his mistress to his new friend: the girl sat down confidingly; and the old lady began to talk, for, being fond of chat, she considered a stranger as a special providence.

"Where be you travellin'?"

"Nowhere in particular."

"Where did you come from, then?" continued Aunt Liddy, undaunted by the short answer.

"California."

"Do tell! Guess you've been one of the rovin' sort, ain't you?"

"Haven't done much else."

"It don't appear to have agreed with you remarkable well," said the blunt old lady, peering at him over her spectacles.

"If I hadn't had the devil's own luck, I'd have been a rich man, instead of a beggar," answered the tramp, with a grim look and an ireful knitting of his black brows.

"Been unfort'nate, have you? I'm sorry for that; but it 'pears to me them as stays to home and works stiddy does better than them that goes huntin' after luck," observed Aunt Liddy, feeling it her duty to give a word of advice.

"Shouldn't wonder if you were right, ma'am. But some folks haven't got any home to stay in; and fellows of my sort have to hunt after luck, for it won't come to 'em."

"Ain't you got no friends, young man?"

"Not one. Lost the last yesterday."

"Took suddin, I suppose?" and the old lady's face was full of interest as she put the question.

"Drowned."

"Merciful sakes! How did it happen?"

"Got hurt, couldn't be cured, so I drowned him, and"—

"What!" shrieked Aunt Liddy, upsetting her footstool with a horrified start.

"Only a dog, ma'am. I couldn't carry him, wouldn't leave him to suffer; so put him out of pain and came on alone."

The tramp had ceased eating, and sat with his head on his hand in a despondent attitude, that told his story better than words. His voice was gruffer than ever as he spoke of his dog; but the last word was husky, and he put his hand on Bran's head with a touch that won the good creature's heart entirely, and made him lick the downcast face, with a little whine of sympathy and satisfaction.

Letty's eyes were full, and Aunt Liddy took snuff and settled her footstool, feeling that something must be done for one who showed signs of being worth the saving.

"Poor creter! And you was fond of him?" she said in a motherly tone; for the man of five or six and twenty was but a boy to her.

"I'd have been a brute if I wasn't fond of him, for he stuck to me when all the other fellows cut me, and tried to drag himself along with a broken leg, rather than leave me. Talk about friends! Give me a dumb animal if you want one worth having."

A bitter tone was in the man's voice and a wrathful spark kindled in his eyes, as if wrong as well as want had made him what he was.

"Rest a little, and tell us about California. A neighbor went there, and we like to hear news of that great, splendid place."

Letty spoke, and the half-eager, half-timid voice was very winning, especially to one who seldom heard such now. Seeing her kindly interest, and glad to pay for his meal in the only way he could, the man told some of his adventures in brief but graphic words, while the old woman plied him with questions and the young one listened with a face so full of pretty wonder that the story-teller was inspired to do his best.

Aunt Liddy's cap-frills stood erect with horror at some of the hair-breadth escapes recounted; but to Letty it was better than any romance she had ever read to listen to tales full of danger and hardship, told by a living voice and face to face with the chief actor in them all, who unconsciously betrayed that he possessed many of the manly attributes women most admire.

"After adventures like these, I don't wonder it seems hard to settle down, as other folks do," she said warmly, when the man stopped short, as if ashamed of talking so much of his own affairs.

"I wouldn't mind trying it, though," he answered, as he glanced about the sunny little room, so home-like and reposeful, and so haunted by all the sweet influences that touch men's hearts when most forlorn.

"You'd better," said Aunt Liddy, decidedly. "Git work and stick to it; and, if luck don't come, bread and butter will, and in a world of woe mebby that's about as much as any one on us ought to expect."

"I have tried to get it. But I'm such a hard-looking chap no one wants me; and I don't blame 'em. Look at that hat, now! Ain't that enough to spoil a man's chance, let alone his looks?" The young fellow held up a battered object with such a comical mixture of disgust and indignation that Letty could not help laughing; and the blithe sound was so contagious that the wanderer joined in it, cheered already by rest and food and kindly words.

"It's singular what store men-folks do set by their hats. My Moses couldn't never read his paper till he'd put on his'n, and as for drivin' a nail bare-headed, in doors or out, he'd never think of such a thing," said Aunt Liddy, with the air of one well versed in the mysterious ways of men-folks.

But Letty clapped her hands, as if a brilliant idea had flashed upon her, and, running to the back entry, returned with a straw hat, brown and dusty, but shady, whole, and far more appropriate to the season than the ragged felt the man was eying hopelessly.

"It isn't very good; but it might do for a time. We only keep it to scare folks, and I don't feel afraid now. Would you mind if I gave it to you?" stammered Letty, coloring up, as she tried to offer her poor gift courteously.

"Mind! I guess I'd be glad to get it, fit or no fit," and, dropping the old hat, the tramp clapped on the new one, making his mirror of the bright eyes before him.

"It does nicely, and you're very welcome," said the girl, getting rosier still, for there was something beside gratitude in the brown face that had lost the dogged, dangerous look it wore at first.

"Now, if you was to wash up and smooth that hair of yourn a trifle, you'd be a likely-looking young man; and, if you're civil-spoken and willin' to lend a hand anywheres, you'll git work, I ain't a doubt," observed Aunt Liddy, feeling a growing interest in the wayfarer, and, womanlike, acknowledging the necessity of putting the best foot foremost.

Letty ran for basin and towel, and, pointing to the well, modestly retired into the kitchen, while Aunt Liddy watched the vigorous scrubbing that went on in the yard; for the tramp splashed the water about like a Newfoundland dog, and Bran assisted at the brief toilet with hospitable zeal.

It seemed as if a different man came out from that simple baptism; for the haggard cheek had a glow upon it, the eyes had lost their hopelessness, and something like courage and self-respect shone in the face that looked in at the door as the stranger gave back basin and towel, saying, with a wave of the old straw hat,—

"I'm heartily obliged, ma'am. Would you kindly tell me how far it is to the next big town?"

"Twenty miles. The cars will take you right there, and the deepo ain't fur," answered Aunt Liddy, showing the way.

The man glanced at his ragged shoes, then squared his broad shoulders, as if bracing himself for the twenty long hot miles that his weary feet must carry him, since his pockets were empty, and he could not bring himself to ask for any thing but food enough to keep life in him.

"Good-by, ma'am, and God bless you." And, slouching the hat over his eyes, he limped away, escorted to the gate by Bran.

At the turn of the road he stopped and looked back as wistfully as ever Letty had done along the shadowy road, and as he looked it seemed as if he saw a younger self setting off with courage, hope, and energy upon the journey, which alas! had ended here. His eye went to the old well, as if there had been some healing in its water; then turned to the porch, where he had been fed and comforted, and lingered there as if some kindly memory warmed his solitary heart.

Just then a little figure in blue gingham ran out and came fluttering after him, accompanied by Bran, in a state of riotous delight. Rosy and breathless, Letty hurried to him, and, looking up with a face full of the innocent compassion that never can offend, she said, offering a parcel neatly folded up,—

"Aunt Liddy sends you some dinner; and this, so that you needn't walk, unless you like, you are so lame."

As if more touched than he cared to show, the man took the food, but gently put away the little roll of greenbacks, saying quickly,—

"Thank you for this; but I can't take your money."

"We ain't rich, but we love to help folks. So you needn't be proud about it." And Letty looked ruffled at his refusal.

"I'll take something else, if you don't mind," said the tramp, pulling off his hat, with a sudden smile that made his face look young and comely.

"What is it?" And Letty looked up so innocently that it was impossible to resist the impulse of a grateful heart.

His answer was to stoop and kiss the blooming cheek, that instantly grew scarlet with girlish shame and anger as she turned to fly. Catching her by the hand, he said penitently,—

"I couldn't help it, you're so good to me. Don't begrudge me a kiss for luck. I need it, God knows!"

The man's real destitution and despair broke out in these words, and he grasped the little hand as if it was the only thing that kept him from the manifold temptations of a desperate mood.

It thrilled the girl like a cry for help, and made her forget everything except that a fellow-creature suffered. She shook the big hand warmly, and said, with all her heart,—

"You're welcome, if it helps you. Good-by and good luck to you!" and ran away as fast as she had come.

The man stood motionless, and watched her till she vanished, then turned and tramped sturdily on, muttering to himself, with a suspicious gruffness in his voice,—

"If I had a little mate like that alongside, I know my luck would turn."