Sydney was gone longer than necessary. He knew that she was gaining time for the stranger to recover calmness. The boy outside looked in from the darkness angrily at first, but more kindly as he saw the waif, little by little, melt under kindness, answer questions, and begin to eat. And when he finally entered, chilled by the biting cold into a more generous spirit, it was to hear the end of a compact: the stranger lad was to remain, and, as soon as he was well enough, he was to help in the greenhouses. He looked calm, even happy.
At that instant a soft, clucking noise from the outside arrested them.
The boy’s face went ashen. He started up. His eyes filled with remorse, looked mournfully upon them as if he were taking leave of a dying dear one, and he caught up the freshly cut loaf, and rushed out through the door.
“I’ve been the meanest fellow going!” he cried as he ran. From the door he called back, “Thank you both! Good-by!” and vanished.
CHAPTER II
For a moment the two in the kitchen stared at each other, speechless; but the moment was short. Whatever might have caused the sick boy’s departure, Mrs. Schmitz was not one to have her hospitality scorned.
“Never mind what you think,” she sharply reproved Sydney, who had ventured to voice his distrust of the midnight prowler. “I looked once in his face. He iss now a good boy. If he goes once again to cold ant hunger, he——” She broke her speech and called into the night, “Blitzen! Blitzen!”
No dog came bounding to her, but a faint whine was heard somewhere outside. She caught up the rope that had held the stranger, and, heedless of thin slippers, ran into the wet dark, calling Sydney to follow.