“Oh, mama,” she exclaimed, “the noise I heard was two tramps who had come in on our piazza out of the rain. At least one of them is a tramp, and the other is the nicest looking boy, about the age of our Bert. He’s sick and just as pale! But he’s dressed very well, and I can’t understand how they came to be together. Won’t you come out and see them, please?”
Mrs. Raynor scraped the dough from her lingers and followed her daughter to the front porch. Miles had gone over to take Rex’s head on his knee and was softly stroking the hair back from the damp forehead.
“Oh, yes; the poor fellow is very ill,” Mrs. Raynor exclaimed as soon as she saw him.
She scarcely gave a glance at Miles. She stood for one instant as if thinking deeply. Then with a resolved tone, she turned to Harding.
“Can you help me get him up stairs and in bed?” she asked.
“I guess so, ma’am,” Miles replied. “I’ve got my breath back now. I have to carry him, you know. You’re awfully good to take him in this way.”
“One must be terribly hard hearted to turn away one in his condition. Come.”
Between them they lifted Rex and bore him into the house and up the broad, easy stairs to a little room at the head of them.
“We must get these wet clothes off at once,” said Mrs. Raynor, and Miles stayed there to help her.
They put him to bed, and then the good lady declared that they ought to have a doctor.