creamy milk. Andy saw the look of suffering on her face as she bustled
about, and he understood. He crept back to bed heavy-hearted. Ruth was
wrong; there was nothing for him to do.

The hot hours dragged on. Toward morning Andy grew restless, and quietly
arose and dressed. The feeling of bravery awakened within him, and a dim
thought grew and assumed shape in his brain. He could row strong and
well. Few knew of his accomplishment, for his life was lonely and the
exercise and practice had been one of his few diversions.

He knew a secret path among the rocks, which led to the river, and at
the end of the path was moored his tiny boat, the rough work of his
patient hands. Only Ruth knew of his treasure; often he and she had
glided away from the hamlet to think their thoughts, or dream their
young dreams.

Now, if he could arouse the stranger before his mother had summoned
another to do the service, he might share the joy of helping, in a small
way, the great cause.

"The need is urgent," smiled the boy; "in that case a lame fellow might
not be despised."

He recalled the stranger's face, and his courage grew.

"Chances are so few!" he muttered; "I must take this one."

At the first rustling of the birds in the trees, Andy crept down-stairs.
His mother's room and the guest-room both opened from the living-room,
but Janie's door was closed, while the stranger's was ajar. Through it