The climax of their enjoyment was reached on the very last day of their visit. Mr. Hobart had promised to take them for a day's fishing on a lake about ten miles distant from his house. On this fair September day he redeemed his promise. A jolly load set out in the gray of the early morning, equipped with poles, lines, bait, and provisions enough for the day. Having no other way to give vent to their spirits, they sang college songs all along the road. Of course, they surprised many an early riser by their vigorous rendering of familiar airs. Even cows and chickens and horses and pigs gazed at them with wondering eyes, as if to say, "Who are these noisy fellows, disturbing our morning meditations?"

As the boys approached the lake they saw a strange-looking object on the water. What it might be they could not for a while decide. Certainly it was not a boat, and what else could be floating so calmly several feet out from the land?

At length their strained eyes solved the mystery. It was a rudely built raft with a stool upon it, and upon the stool sat a ragged urchin ten or twelve years of age.

"Ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!" shouted the six boys in unison.

"Fine rig you have there!" called one.

"What will you take for your ship?" shouted another.

For all response the stranger simply stared.

"Don't hurt his feelings, boys," said Mr. Hobart kindly, "he's getting enjoyment in his own way, and I suspect that it's the best way he knows of."

Conscious of impoliteness, the boys subsided, and nothing more was thought of the stranger for several hours.

About noon, however, as they were resting on the sh.o.r.e, he appeared before them with an old cigar box in his hand.

"Want some crickets and gra.s.shoppers?" he asked timidly. "I've been catching them for you, if you want them."

"Yes, they are exactly the things we need," replied Mr. Hobart. "How much do you want for the lot?"

"Oh, you're welcome to them. I hadn't nothin' else to do."

"Well, that's what I call returning good for evil. Didn't you hear these chaps laugh at you this morning?"

"Yes, but that's nothin'. I'm used to that sort of thing. Folks has laughed at me allus."

"Well, we won't laugh at you now. Have some dinner, if you won't have any pay."

The boy had refused money, but he could not refuse the tempting sandwiches and cakes which were offered to him. His hungry look appealed to the hearts of the other boys quite as forcibly as his comical att.i.tude had before appealed to their sense of the ludicrous.

Now they shared their dinner with him in most hospitable manner.

Fortunately Mrs. Hobart was of a generous disposition, and had provided an abundance of food. Otherwise the picnic baskets might have given out with this new demand upon their contents.

"What shall we call you?" said Mr. Hobart to the unexpected guest.

"Sam Smith's my name. I am generally called Sam for short."

"Well, Sam, I think you're right down hungry, and I'm glad you happened along our way. Where do you live, my boy?"

"I've been a-workin' over there in the farmhouse yonder, but they've got through with me, and I'm just a-makin' up my mind where to go next."

"Seems to me you're rather young to earn your own living. Have you no father or mother?"

"Yes, in the city. But they have seven other boys and it's pretty hard work to get along. I'm the oldest, I am, so I try to turn a penny for myself. A gentleman got me this place, and paid my way out here, but he's gone back to town now. I s'pose he hoped the folks would keep me, but they don't need me no longer."

Mr. Hobart was a man of kindly deeds. More than that, he was a Christian. As he stood talking with the stranger lad the words of the Master ran through his mind: "The poor ye have with ye always, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good."

Certainly here was an opportunity to help a friendless boy. It should not be thrown away.

"How would you like to engage yourself to me for the fall and winter?

These boys are all going off to-morrow, and I need a boy about your size to run errands and help me with the ch.o.r.es."

"Really? Honest?"

"Yes, really I do. I want a good boy who will obey me and my wife, and I have an idea that you may suit."

"I'll try to, sir."

"Then jump into that boat and help us fish and I'll take you home with me to-night."

Sam cast a farewell glance at his raft, just then floating out of sight.

He had nothing else to take leave of, and no further arrangements to make; no packing to do and no baggage to carry. He had simply himself and the few clothes he wore. At evening he went home with Mr. Hobart in the most matter-of-course way. When the load of fishermen drew up at the barn-door he jumped out and began to unhitch as though that had been his lifelong work.

Mrs. Hobart, coming out to give a welcome to the chattering group, appeared rather puzzled as she counted heads in the twilight. Mr. Hobart enjoyed the surprise which he had been expecting.

"Yes, wife," said he aside, answering her thoughts, "I took out six this morning and I've brought back seven to-night. We've been for a day's fishing, you know, and I rather guess I've caught something more valuable than ba.s.s or perch, though they're good enough in their way."

"Where did you find him?" asked Mrs. Hobart.

"Sitting on a raft out on the lake."

"He's a poor, homeless fellow, and I reckon that there's room in our house for one of Christ's little ones. Isn't that so, wife?"

"Yes, Reuben, it is."

"Then we'll do the best we can for this young chap. I mean to write to his parents, for he has given me their address. I think there will be no trouble in arranging to have him stay with us. We'll see what we can make out of him."

"Reuben, I believe you're always looking out for a chance to do some good!"

"That's the way it ought to be, wife."

This conversation took place behind the carryall. None of the boys heard it. The six visitors, however, all caught the spirit of benevolence from their host. Before departing next day each one had contributed from his wardrobe some article of clothing for Sam, and they all showered him with good wishes as they left.

"Hope to find you here next summer," they shouted in driving off.

"Hope so," responded Sam.

Why Charlie Didn't Go.

BY MARY JOANNA PORTER.