The Van Ruypen butler came down the rose-tinted room, known as madam's boudoir, with his usual soft, catlike tread, and stood by her very chair for a moment without being seen. She appeared lost in thought, her head bent on her hand, and her right foot tapping impatiently on the carpet.

"If you please, madam," said the serving-man, with a little apologetic cough to announce his presence, "I—"

"Well," interrupted his mistress, sharply, and lifting her head with an impatient gesture, "what is it, Hooper?" Then, without waiting for an answer, she got out of her chair, and went quickly across the apartment to her writing-desk. "I want you to take a note to Mr. King's, to little Miss Pepper," and she began to write hastily, and as if no very good humor inspired her thought.

"If you please, madam," said Hooper, obsequiously, "little Master Pepper is downstairs now."

"Hey? What is that you are saying?" demanded the old lady, throwing down her pen to turn away from the writing-table.

"He's downstairs," repeated Hooper, "the little Pepper lad."

"Which one?" cried madam, quickly.

"The one, madam," said the butler; "I don't know his name."

"Then it must be Joel," said the old lady, and a smile of great satisfaction began to run over her strongly marked face. "Show him up at once, Hooper; at once," she added, with an imperious wave of her hand that set all the heirlooms of rings to shining at a great rate.

"Yes, madam," said Hooper, getting out on his errand as expeditiously as possible.

"To think that Joel has really come!" she exclaimed to herself joyfully. She deserted her writing-table now and began to walk up and down the apartment, her long fingers nervously playing with the silken cord of her elaborate morning gown. "Oh, Joel," as her restless feet brought her near the door, "there you are, my boy."

"Yes'm," said Joel, wholly miserable, and leaning against the casing, with his black eyes fastened on the staircase, as if the way to Paradise lay there.

"Well, come in. Don't stand there any longer. Pray come in." She waved her hand authoritatively toward the centre of the apartment, then followed him, as he crept dismally in. "Now sit down," she said, in her most sociable way.

So Joel sat down and fastened his eyes on the beautiful red velvet carpet.

"So you've come to see me this time, instead of my going to call on you," said Madam Van Ruypen, to set him at his ease.

"Yes'm," said Joel, "Mamsie made me come."

"That's not very polite," observed the old lady, dryly. Which so added to Joel's confusion, that he folded his small brown hands together tightly, with a wild idea of springing off down the long stairs and out of the big house—but Mamsie. Oh, he couldn't do it! So he sat still, hardly daring to breathe.

"However, it doesn't signify, since you are here," Madam Van Ruypen went on, her eyes twinkling, which, of course, Joel couldn't see, as he didn't dare to look up. Then she burst out suddenly into a laugh, long and loud, from which it seemed so difficult for her to get free, that at last Joel tore his gaze off from the carpet and stared at her in terror.

"Oh, I'm through," said the old lady, wiping her eyes; "dear me, and I haven't laughed so for many a day. No, no, Lizette," to the French maid, who popped in her white-capped head at the unwonted noise, "I'm not going to have a fit. Go back to your work. Now then, Joel, do you know what I wanted to see you for, and the errand that made me take all the trouble to call on you the other day?"

"No'm," said Joel, all his misery returning, and hanging his head again.

"Well, you see, I was in great trouble."

Joel looked up quickly. Then his head fell again, to think how he had acted—and she, the rich old Madam Van Ruypen, in trouble! In the first place he couldn't believe his ears; but worse than ever it was for him that he had been bad at such a time.

"The greatest trouble," said the old lady, whereat Joel's chin went lower yet, and his hands twisted together miserably.

"You see Ben, who is the really sensible one among you Peppers," said Madam Van Ruypen, bluntly, "and the one I rely on, wasn't at home. And to think I had gotten myself into such a scrape. Joel, you can't think, I was just about frantic!" She leaned forward, resting both hands on her knees.

"Oh, what was it? What was it?" cried Joel, forgetting all else except this dreadful thing that had happened to her, and, hopping off from his chair, he ran over to her, clutching her morning gown with excited fingers.

Madam Van Ruypen put both strong hands on his shoulders. "I'd gone and written to that washerwoman up in the country to send down some of her children for a visit here. Think of that, Joel Pepper; I must have been crazy!"

Joel drew a long breath, his black eyes fastened on her face.

"And I don't know any more what to do with children, nor what to say to them, for that matter," declared the old lady, dropping her hands in her lap, "than—" she cast her eyes about the apartment, "that table there," bringing them up to the nearest article.

"So I went for you in my trouble," she continued—Joel, not thinking of anything to say, wisely keeping still. "You understand, Joel," with a keen glance at him, "you aren't anyway to be compared with Ben, but seeing I couldn't get him, and two of the three children that are coming are boys, why, I had to make you do to help me out."

"Are some boys coming?" asked Joel, finding his tongue.

"Yes," said the old lady. "Oh, didn't I tell you? I wrote to the mother to send the two biggest boys and one girl—I couldn't take any more than one girl, but she'll be a quiet, gentle little thing, of course, and keep the boys civilized. That's what I wanted her for."

"Ugh!" exclaimed Joel in great disgust, and digging the toes of one foot well into the thick carpet.

"Oh, she won't trouble you, Joel," said the old lady, confidently; "she'll want to play with dolls all the time. I will keep her supplied. And if she should get discontented, why I'll ask Polly what to do. But what I want to know from you, Joel, is, will you help me out with those boys?"

Madam Van Ruypen grasped him again by the shoulders to look him squarely in the face. "Will you, Joel?"

"Pip is coming home with Ben and Jasper," said Joel, irrelevantly.

"What? Not that boy who almost killed Jasper King?" cried Madam Van Ruypen, and letting her hands again fall, this time in sheer astonishment.

"He didn't," contradicted Joel, bluntly.

"Well, he was the cause of it, anyway," said the old lady, inconsequently, "so never mind, we won't waste words about him. I wouldn't have believed that Mr. King would do such a thing. Dear me, I shouldn't want ever to see the boy again."

"Well, Grandpapa does," said Joel, bobbing his black head, "'cause he's going to bring him; an' I'm glad of it."

"Well, supposing this boy, this Pip, does come," said Madam Van Ruypen, much discomfited, "what of it? That won't make any difference about helping me out with these two dreadful ones I've gone and fastened myself up with. Now will you do it, Joel? You must."

"I've got to help about Pip," said Joel, reluctantly.

"Pip! Well, who cares about your Pip?" began the old lady in an autocratic way.

"I've got to help about Pip," said Joel again, and beginning to back slowly away from her.

"See here, Joel!" she exclaimed in alarm, and seizing the end of his blouse, "you won't refuse to help me? Just think of it, I don't in the least know what to say to boys, let alone entertaining them—and they're coming, Joel Pepper, they actually are!"

She dropped the blouse-end and wrung her hands together. "And that minister is going to send them along. Like enough they'll get here to-day, although he hasn't telegraphed yet. And what shall I do, in Heaven's name!" She was so nervous by this time that it was impossible for her to sit still, so she got off from her chair and began to pace up and down the room, with long, excited steps.

"I've got to help about Pip," said Joel again, and standing quite still by her deserted chair.

"Well, don't you say that again," commanded the old lady in an angry tone, and not pausing in her walk. "Help about your Pip if you want to, Joel Pepper. I'm sure I don't care if your Grandfather is foolish enough to burden himself with that dreadful boy. And I guess I'll telegraph to Mr. what's-his-name—the minister—oh, St. John, to keep those children back. They can stay in their poor old cabin for all me. I can't have them here," and she turned off to the writing-table.

"Oh, no, don't, don't," screamed Joel, flying after her. "I'll help you. Let 'em come—I will!"

"No, you don't want to," said the old lady, perversely. "I see it in your face, Joel." She turned and looked at him keenly. "It's no use, those children can't get this chance. They must stay at home."

"Let them come," howled Joel. Then he laid hold of her gown and blubbered into it. "O dear! Please let 'em come!"

Just then in came Hooper, who appeared not to notice the astonishing state of things as he held out to his mistress a yellow envelope, and then discreetly retired.

"It's well you promised, Joel," said Madam Van Ruypen, grimly, throwing down the yellow sheet, which she tore out of the envelope, "and it was just in the nick of time. Those children are on the way, and will be here this afternoon."

Meantime an express train from another direction was rapidly bearing the party from the Presbrey School. And at this identical minute Pip was pressing his thin little face against the window-pane, as he had slipped from his parlor chair to rest his tired legs. "What would it be like to go to Ben's house and be with him all the time?" For Pip never for a moment lost sight of the fact that it was Ben, and Ben alone, who was all the world to him.

He stood so for some minutes, his gaze idly resting on the flying landscape, of which he could not have told a single feature. Then he gave a long sigh and glanced longingly across the aisle at Ben, comfortable in his chair over a book, for Jasper was asleep in the chair ahead. Besides, he wasn't to be talked to, so the doctor had given orders, on the home journey.

"Hey—what is it?" Ben in turning a page happened to glance up and catch a glimpse of the earnest little eyes.

"Nothing," Pip tried to say, but he made no success of it.

"Oh, come over here," said Ben, in a low voice, because of Jasper. And tossing aside the book, he crowded Pip in next to his window. "Now then, sir, what is it?"

"Nothing," said Pip, in a joyful little way. He could say it now, as he had what he wanted—Ben to himself.

Ben leaned over and picked up his book. "You can have a nice time looking out of the window, eh, Pip?"

"Yes," said Pip, but his thin little face fell, and he turned it away to cast a dismal glance on what he didn't care in the least to see.

Ben found his place in the book and plunged in. Was Bob really to be pursued by the shark, or would the good sailor who had befriended him before, save him now? He read on—whirled a page—what was that, a sigh? He glanced quickly around his book, and took one look at Pip. "Oh, say," he broke out, and down the book went to the floor, "what shall we do now, I wonder?"

"Do you mean it; are we going to do anything, Ben?" cried Pip, in a joyful voice, and whirling around in great excitement.

"Yes—hush, we might wake Jasper," warned Ben, but he smiled into the happy little face. "It must be something quiet, you know." He threw his arm around the small figure and drew it down beside him on the parlor chair. "There's room enough for us both, isn't there?" he said pleasantly.

"You're so awful big," said Pip, squirming in, and snuggling up to Ben as tightly as he could in quite an ecstatic frame of mind. "Oh, I wish you'd draw something, Ben, I really do."

"Well, so I will," said Ben, after a bit of consideration. "Now then, you sit still and I'll get my bag," which he soon did, from the rack overhead. And extracting the drawing materials, every movement being superintended by Pip in the greatest satisfaction, he soon had them all laid out, ready to begin operations.

"Well, sir, and now what shall we draw?" he asked, balancing his pencil thoughtfully on his fingers.

Pip turned around, his pale eyes searching the parlor car in all directions. "Draw that old woman," he said at last, pointing to the subject of his choice; "she's awful funny."

"Hush!" said Ben, pulling down his finger.

"Oh, no, I couldn't draw the people in the car; they wouldn't like it. Choose something else, Pip."

"There isn't anything else," said Pip, in a disconsolate voice. "Everything outside is running so fast."

"I tell you, I'll draw something from memory," said Ben, quickly. "I'll show you the little brown house where I used to live—that'll be nice. You'd like that, Pip."

"Yes," said Pip, "I should."

If Ben said so, that was quite enough, so he crowded as closely to the scene of operations as he could get.

"See here," said Ben, twisting off, "you don't leave me room enough. You mustn't crowd so, Pip."

"I can't see, then," said Pip, dreadfully disappointed.

"Well, I tell you, get on my other side, then,—there, that's fine," as Pip hopped over. "Now my right hand is free. Well, here goes!" And in two minutes the little brown house began to stare right up at them from the paper, and Ben was drawing furiously away, until it seemed as if every revolution of the car wheels was whirling them to Badgertown.

"Oh, do teach me to draw houses, Ben," cried Pip, as the little lane down to Grandma Bascom's began to come in sight. "Do, Ben, please," he begged.

"So I will," promised Ben, kindly. "Now you can take the pencil when I've finished this, Pip, and I'll give you your first lesson."

"May I? May I?" and Pip ended up with a glad little crow.

"Hush! You'll wake Jasper," warned Ben. "Yes, and I'll sharpen you up a nice new point on my best pencil, and you shall make a try. There, this is almost done." He put in a few more strokes, and held it off to examine with a critical eye, "All except a bit of shading in those trees,—there, now it's all right," and he laid the sketch in Pip's hands.

"I'm going to draw just like that," declared Pip, with the utmost confidence, devouring the picture with his eyes.

"Oh, you'll draw one better than that, sometime," said Ben, laughing, as he whittled away on his best pencil. "Now then, that is a point for you," and he held it up in satisfaction.

Pip seized the pencil, and made some quick, jerky strokes that snapped the beautiful point quite off.

"O dear, dear!" he exclaimed, ready to cry.

"Never mind, we'll soon have another point on, just as good," said Ben, reassuringly, opening his knife. "Now then, Pip, I'll begin your lesson," holding up the pencil; "here you are, all ready."

"I want to draw a picture first, just as you did," said Pip, with an eager hand for the pencil.

"You can't," said Ben, sturdily, "not the first go. You must learn how, Pip."

"Let me try, do," begged Pip, earnestly, and his thin little face twitched.

"Oh, well, you may if you want to," said Ben, laughing; "but you mustn't be discouraged if you don't succeed. Now then, go at it if you wish."

For the next few moments nothing was to be heard but Pip's hard breathing and the scratching of his fine pencil over the paper. Ben yawned and looked longingly at the book on the floor. And there was Bob, and the shark in full pursuit, with the prospect of the sailor putting in an appearance at the last moment. No, it wouldn't do to desert Pip—and—why, really there was something worth while coming on the big piece of white paper. Ben leaned over the thin little figure. "Why, Pip!"

Pip said nothing, but drew his breath harder yet, with every effort on his work. He gripped the pencil as if it were to run away from him, and bent lower yet to his task.

"Don't clutch it so; hold it easier," said Ben, laying his hand on the little thin one, guiding the pencil.

Pip released his grasp for just one moment, then tightened it up again. Seeing which, Ben wisely let him alone. "It'll make him nervous," he said to himself, and turned his attention to watching the sketch grow. "My goodness, to think he can draw like that!"

For there unmistakably was an old man, very withered and bent, holding out his hand, and by his side a little girl in a tattered shawl. Anybody with half an eye could see that the old beggar was blind, and that the girl had been crying.

"Pip! why, where,"—Ben was beaming at him now, as Pip lifted his face,—"how did you learn to draw like that?" and he seized the sketch. It was very rough and uneven, but there they were, sure enough, the two figures.

"I used to see them," said Pip, explaining. "They stood on the corner, don't you know, when the master let us go up to town from school."

"Well, I guess you don't want any lessons from me," declared Ben, not able to take his eyes from the picture.

"Oh, yes, I do, I do," cried Pip, in mortal terror that he was going to lose the very thing above all others that he prized. "I'll tear it up," he cried, with a savage lunge at the picture, and venom written all over his little pale face.

"No, you don't, sir," declared Ben, with a laugh, and holding the sketch off at arm's length; "this picture is mine in return for the one I gave you. And I'll teach you all I know, Pip, I really will. So now we will set to work."

And the first thing that either of them knew, Grandpapa was leaning over them and smiling, to say, "The next station, and we are home!"