She slipped her hand within her father’s arm and drew him with gentle force out of his office and down the stairs to the carriage, where John sat, looking a trifle anxious and as if he feared a reproof for allowing a strange child in his master’s elegant equipage with his idolized daughter. Mr. Huntress was struck with the refined, even aristocratic appearance of the boy the moment his eyes fell upon him. He instantly recognized the wonderful beauty of his face, remarked the shape and color of his eyes, which, had they been lighted by the fire of intelligence, would have been his chief charm. His frame was slight, but he was finely formed, with shapely hands and feet. His head was rather massive for his body and of that square structure, with a broad, full brow and an unusual height above the ears, which generally proclaims a large brain and rare intellectual capacity, and yet he was unmistakably an idiot! One look into those blank, expressionless eyes but too plainly told that. Mr. Huntress entered the carriage, after assisting Gladys to her seat, and spoke kindly and cheerfully to the boy. He made no answer, but fixed his great eyes earnestly upon the gentleman’s face while he shrank close to Gladys, as if he instinctively realized that she was his stanch friend, and would protect him against all evil. “I do not wonder that you were interested in him, Gladys,” said Mr. Huntress, regarding the stranger gravely, “he is peculiarly winning in appearance, though evidently very simple in mind.” “Do you suppose he was always so, papa?” Gladys asked. “It does not seem possible, for, aside from that vacant look in his eyes, his face has a wonderfully intelligent expression, especially when it is in repose. Can’t you make him say anything?” “No, sir; he tries to talk, but I cannot understand what he means.” “Ask him a question, Gladys,” said her father. “Boy, you have lost your hat—would you like a new one?” the young girl questioned. “M’ha! m’ha!” he instantly answered, putting his hand to his head, thus showing as before that he had comprehended something of what was said to him. Mr. Huntress’ face lighted. “Try something else,” he commanded. “Where do you live, boy?” Gladys inquired. This query, like the previous one, only elicited a perfect storm of unintelligible sounds. “Do you wish to go home to your friends?” Gladys continued, making another effort. But the only response was a short, sharp ejaculation of pain, while the lad seized her hand and laid his cheek affectionately against it, looking appealingly into her face, as if thus to signify that he did not wish to leave her. “I cannot understand him at all, papa, only it seems as if he wishes to stay with me,” said Gladys, with a sigh. Mr. Huntress thought a moment, then he turned to the coachman and said: “Drive home, John.” “Oh, papa, are you going to take him home with us?” cried Gladys, eagerly.