"I brushed and combed him this morning," Jackie informed his aunt eagerly; "and, afterwards, he jumped up and licked my face, so he must like me, mustn't he?"
Mrs. Mead nodded.
"It must cost you something to feed him, Mrs. Winter," she said. "I'll tell Lizzie to save our scraps for him in future."
Every day after that a plate of scraps was sent up to Mrs. Winter's attic from the kitchen, so that now Stray was better fed than he had ever been in his life before.
Swiftly passed the summer days, then came August when the schools were closed for a month. It was really no holiday for Bob, because his aunt kept him running errands and allowed him no time to himself. Only on Sundays did he get any rest.
Mrs. Mead always took her nephews to church with her on Sunday mornings. During the remainder of the day she did not trouble about them, as long as they kept out of her way; so when one Sunday afternoon, on their return from Sunday school, Mrs. Winter asked them to take tea with her they accepted her invitation at once.
Jackie was now quite at home in Mrs. Winter's attic; but Bob had never been there before. They had their tea at the little round table near the window. It was a very frugal repast of bread not very thickly buttered, and weak tea; but both Bob and Jackie enjoyed it a great deal more than they had ever enjoyed a Sunday tea with Aunt Martha. Bob thought Mrs. Winter the nicest old woman he had ever known. He told her about their old home in the country, and talked to her of his father; then began to ask questions.
"Has your husband been dead long, Mrs. Winter?" he inquired.
"Nigh twenty years, my dear," she answered; "he was a sailor—a good, God-fearing man. His ship went down with all hands in a storm."
"Oh, then he was drowned!" Bob exclaimed, looking at her sympathetically. "Haven't you any children?" was his next question.