“They think I want to beg of them, I suppose,” he told himself. “What shall I do?”
Already the sun had gone under the cloud masses and the air was much cooler. The wind rose and began to rustle the leaves.
Quite a distance off down the road, in the direction whence the buggy had come, the red tops of two chimneys could be seen peeping above the trees.
“He can’t stay here in the rain,” Miles muttered. “I must try to get him to that house.”
He turned to Rex again. He took the coat from under his head and made him put it on.
“It’s going to storm,” he said, “I’m going to carry you to that house.”
“You can’t,” was all Rex had strength to say.
“I’m going to try,” returned Miles, and he gathered Rex up in his arms just as the wind came sweeping down upon them in a gust that was ominous of that which was to follow.
CHAPTER XXI
MILES HARDING
It was physically impossible for Miles Harding to carry Rex very far without stopping to rest. The life of a tramp, with insufficient nourishment, was not calculated to strengthen the long arms which could easily wrap themselves about the other boy, but had little power to retain him in their embrace.