“Mrs. Bentley,” he said, “see what I have found. Is it yours?” He went over to where she was putting the finishing touches to a toothsome-looking pie.
She took the ring and turned it over, then she looked at Benny’s honest little face. “No, it isn’t mine,” she told him, “but I know whose it is, and she’ll be glad enough to get it again. She will so,” she added after a moment’s thought. “It is Beulah Martin’s. She is my niece, and she lives down the road about a mile.” She held the ring, lightly tossing it about in her palm. “I tell you what you shall do; you shall go and take it to her as soon as you have helped me through the dinner dishes. You have worked like a Trojan this morning and you deserve to have a little time to go down there. It isn’t so very far. You might go down with one of the wagons and they can put you off at the gate.” She did not say anything about Ben’s honesty in bringing it to her, and he was glad she had taken it for granted that he would do just that thing. He was better pleased than if she had been surprised at his doing it.
So, about three o’clock, he started off down the level white road, mounted on the high seat of one of the wagons. “That’s Martins’,” the driver said, as they approached a yellow house among the trees.
Benny clambered down and trudged up the lane. He was wondering whether he should knock at the front door or go around to the kitchen, when he saw that some one was sitting on the top step of the porch. As he came nearer he saw that it was a pretty girl in a pink dress. She had some embroidery in her hand and was busily working upon it. A big dog, seeing a stranger coming, jumped up from where he was lying under a tree, and began to bark furiously. “Rod, Rod, come back!” called the girl. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, sir? Don’t be afraid of him, little boy, he won’t hurt you, but he thinks it is his duty to bark at anyone who comes up the walk, unless it is one of the family.”
“I’m not afraid,” Benny replied. “I think he looks like a nice dog. See, he is wagging his tail.” And so he was, and Benny patted him on the head, an attention the dog seemed to receive in good part, for he looked up at the little boy and put up a huge paw to be shaken. “He is a very nice dog,” Benny repeated, well pleased to be friends with the creature.
“So he is,” the girl replied. “His name is Roderick. What is yours?”
“Mine is Benny Jordan. Are you Miss Beulah Martin?”
“Yes; how did you know?”
“Mrs. Bentley told me.”
“Aunt Mary? Did she send you over?”