Patsy looked embarrassed, ate his bit of bun in silence, and after twirling his hat-crown for a few seconds hitched out of the door with a backward glance and muttered remark which must have been intended for farewell.
CHAPTER III.
TWO 'PRENTICE HANDS AT PHILANTHROPY.
"With aching hands and bleeding feet,
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
We bear the burden and the heat
Of the long day and wish 't were done.
Not till the hours of light return
All we have built do we discern."
atsy had scarcely gone when the door opened again the least bit, and a sunny face looked in, that of my friend and helper.
"Not gone yet, Kate?"
"No, but I thought I sent you away long ago."