"And all your lovely cake!" almost sobbed Tabitha. "It--it was yours, too," said the other with a catch in her voice. "Oh, dear! What can have happened to it? I never heard of such a thing--right in broad daylight!" The sisters had long ago set their trays upon the ground and were now wringing their hands helplessly. Suddenly a small figure appeared before them holding out four sadly crushed sandwiches and half of a crumbling cake. "I'm sorry--awful sorry! I didn't think--I was so hungry. I'm afraid there ain't very much left," he added, with rueful eyes on the sandwiches. "No, I should say not!" vouchsafed Rachel, her voice firm now that the size of the "burglar" was declared. Tabitha only gasped. The small boy placed the food upon the empty plates, and Rachel's lips twitched as she saw that he clumsily tried to arrange it in an orderly fashion. "There, ma'am,--that looks pretty good!" he finally announced with some pride. Tabitha made an involuntary gesture of aversion. Rachel laughed outright; then her face grew suddenly stern. "Boy, what do you mean by such actions?" she demanded. His eyes fell, and his cheeks showed red through the tan. "I was hungry." "But didn't you know it was stealing?" she asked, her face softening. "I didn't stop to think--it looked so good I couldn't help takin' it." He dug his bare toes in the grass for a moment in silence, then he raised his head with a jerk and stood squarely on both feet. "I hain't got any money, but I'll work to pay for it--bringin' wood in, or somethin'." "The dear child!" murmured two voices softly. "I've got to find my folks, sometime, but I'll do the work first. Mebbe an hour'll pay for it--'most!"--He looked hopefully into Miss Rachel's face. "Who are your folks?" she asked huskily. By way of answer he handed out a soiled, crumpled envelope for her inspection on which was written, "Reverend John Hapgood." "Why--it's father!" "What!" exclaimed Tabitha. Her sister tore the note open with shaking fingers. "It's from--Paul!" she breathed, hesitating a conscientious moment over the name. Then she turned her startled eyes on the boy, who was regarding her with lively interest. "Do I belong to you?" he asked anxiously. "I--I don't know. Who are you--what's your name?" "Ralph Hapgood." Tabitha had caught up the note and was devouring it with swift-moving eyes. "It's Paul's boy, Rachel," she broke in, "only think of it--Paul's boy!" and she dropped the bit of paper and enveloped the lad in a fond but tearful embrace. He squirmed uneasily. "I'm sorry I eat up my own folks's things. I'll go to work any time," he suggested, trying to draw away, and wiping a tear splash from the back of his hand on his trousers. But it was long hours before Ralph Hapgood was allowed to "go to work." Tears, kisses, embraces, questions, a bath, and clean clothes followed each other in quick succession--the clothes being some of his own father's boyhood garments.