"Now, that's more peart-like. Wal, in the fust place I kin take ye home with me, an' my old woman'll keep ye fer the night, an' I guess that's what ye need most."
"Where do you live?"
"'Bout five miles out in the country."
"How do you get there?"
"Wal, I ain't got none o' them autymobiles, nor yet no airship; but I've got a old nag that can do the piece in an hour or so."
"Why do you want to take me home with you?" asked Marjorie, for she couldn't help a feeling that there was something wrong.
"Why, bless your heart, child, bekase you're alone and forlorn and hungry and all done out. An' it's my privit opinion as how ye've run away from home."
"No, not that," said Midget, sadly; "I haven't any home."
"Ye don't say so! Wal, wal, never mind fer to-night. You go 'long with me, an' Zeb Geary, he'll look after ye fer a spell, anyhow."
There was no mistaking the kindness now, and Marjorie looked up into the man's red face with trust and gratitude.