"There's a--a superb workman down there; do you know him, Cousin Margaret? I guess he's the boss, or something. He wears blue overalls and a blue jumper, and he can vault--oh my! how that fellow can vault!" "Basil, I don't feel at all sure that your uncle would wish you to be talking with strange workmen. At any rate, I think you ought to ask leave, don't you?" "Maybe I ought!" said Basil, cheerfully. "But it's too late now, you see, 'cause I have talked to him, quite lots, and he's awfully jolly. Oh, Jonah! I do believe there he is now; and--Cousin Margaret! I do believe he's got Mert with him! Look!" Margaret looked. A man was coming across the field that lay beyond the garden wall; a workingman, from his blue overalls and jumper; a young man, from the way he moved, and from his light, springy step. Margaret could not see his face, but his hair was red; she could see that over the burden that he carried in his arms. Coming nearer, this burden was seen to be a child. A chimney-sweeper? No, for chimney-sweepers are not necessarily wet; do not drip black mud from head to foot; do not run streams of black bog water. "Merton!" cried poor Margaret, who knew well the look of that mud and water. "Oh, what has happened? Is--is he hurt?" she cried out, running towards the wall. The young workman raised a cheerful face, streaked with black, and presenting the appearance of a light-hearted savage in trim for a funeral. "Not a bit hurt!" he called in return. "All right, only wet, and a trifle muddy. Little chap's had a bath, that's all. Hope you haven't been anxious about him." "Oh, yes, I have been anxious--thank you! You are sure--he has not been in danger?" "Well," the stranger admitted, "just as well I was there, perhaps. It isn't a safe place for children, you see. How are you now, old chap? He was a bit dizzy when I picked him up, you see." Merton lifted his black head, and looked ruefully at Margaret. "You told me not to go!" he said. "I won't go again." "Well, I guess you won't!" cried Basil, excitedly. "Why, you've been in all over; it's all up to your chin, and some of it's on the back of your head. I say, you must--" The young man made him a sign quickly. "He's all right!" he said. "Mud baths extremely hygienic; recommended by the medical fraternity; a--where did you say I should put him?" "Oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Margaret. "I am letting you hold him all this time, and you are getting all wet, too." "No consequence, not the least in the world. Besides,--past participle perhaps more appropriate than present." Margaret led the way to the verandah, and the stranger finally deposited his burden on the steps. Looking down at himself, he seemed for the first time aware of his singular appearance, for he blushed, and, lifting his cap, was turning away with a muttered apology, in which the word "clothes" was the only word Margaret could hear.