When the three small girls, so rosy of cheek and so sparkling of eye, confronted the grave little pilgrim he could only gaze upon them with timid yearning as he clung to his doll and to old "Bruvver Jim." There never had been in all his life a vision so beautiful. Old Jim himself was affected almost as much as the quaint, wee man so quietly standing at his side. Even Tintoretto was experiencing ecstasies heretofore unknown in his youthful career. Indeed, no one could have determined by any known system of calculation whether Jim or tiny Skeezucks or the pup most enjoyed the coming of the preacher and his family. Old Jim had certainly never before undergone emotions so deeply stirring. Tintoretto had never before beheld four youngsters affording such a wealth of opportunity for puppy-wise manoeuvres; indeed, he had never before seen but one little playfellow since his advent in the world. He was fairly crazed with optimism. As for Skeezucks--starving for even so much as the sight of children, hungering beyond expression for the sound of youngster voices, for the laughter and over-bubblings of the little folk with whom by rights he belonged--nothing in the way of words will ever tell of the almost overpowering excitement and joy that presently leaped in his lonely little heart. Honesty is the children's policy. There was nothing artificial in the way those little girls fell in love with tiny Skeezucks; and with equally engaging frankness the tiny man instantly revealed his fondness for them all. They were introduced as Susie and Rachie and Ellie. Their other name was Stowe. This much being soon made known, the three regarded their rights to the house, to little Skeezucks, and to Tintoretto as established. They secured the pup by two of his paws and his tail, and, with him thus in hand, employed him to assist in surrounding tiny Skeezucks, whom they promptly kissed and adopted. "Girls," said the father, mildly, "don't be rude." "They're all right," drawled Jim, in a new sort of pleasure. "There are some kinds of rudeness a whole lot nicer than politeness." "What's his name?" said Susie, lifting her piquant little face up to Jim, whom all the Stowe family had liked at once. "Has he got any name?" In a desperate groping for his inspiration, Jim thought instantly of all his favorites--Diogenes, Plutarch, Endymion, Socrates, Kit Carson, and Daniel Boone. "Wal, yes. His name--" and there old Jim halted, while "Di" and "Plu" and "Indy" and "Soc" all clamored in his brain for the honor. "His name--I reckon his name is Carson Boone." "Little Carson," said Rachie. "Isn't Carson a sweet little boy, mammy? What's he got--a rabbit?" "That's his doll," said Jim. "Oh, papa, look!" said Rachie. "Oh, papa, look!" echoed Susie. "Papa, yook!" piped Ellie, the youngest, who wanted the dolly for herself, and, therefore, hauled at it lustily.