"Y-y-yes," replied Stephen, hesitatingly, "I-I-I can if folks give me time to think first. But--but when they make me hurry I can't s-s-seem to think quick." "And I always want people to answer me quick," the little girl declared, adding with uncanny perception of what would be required on the Grimes farm, "and I reckon you'll have to answer quick here when he and she ask you something so you'll always splutter, won't you?" "I-I-I reckon so," answered the boy. "Well, then, it's all right," she returned in a judicial manner. "I'll just call you 'Splutters' and I won't have to try to say Ste-Ste-Stephen at all." From that day little Mollie never addressed Stephen by any other name than "Splutters." Grimes and Maria frequently called him 'Steve' but during the ensuing years every child that came to the farm learned to know the wistful, thoughtful boy by the purely descriptive appellation of "Splutters." Now, at Maria's bidding, he took Mollie's hand and led her to the untidy table. As they sat there, weary and homesick, eating the corn pone placed before them, Maria left the house to carry a bucket of food to the hogs. Ambrose followed at her heels. In silence Mollie watched them depart. Then she leaned forward and peered into Stephen's face. "I'll tell you what made him holler so," she whispered, raising her wee forefinger knowingly. "But you mustn't tell." "I won't," promised the boy, his eyes opening wide with expectancy. Mollie's own eyes snapped and twinkled. "I pinched him," she whispered triumphantly. "He didn't know it was me. Neither did she. If he hits me again, I'll pinch him again. I don't like him. I don't like anything here. Let's run away and go home." The newly christened Splutters shook his head. "I-I-I haven't any home," he said. "A nice lady I lived with said I was going to be her little boy--but she got hurt and had to go away. She said I was going to a school where there were lots of little boys--and I could read books--all I pleased. I don't guess--she knows--I've come here. That's why I didn't want to come with the man. I wasn't afraid. I just knew--it was some kind--of a mistake." The boy was speaking slowly and thoughtfully, weighing every word. It was his natural reserve and cautiousness, not an impediment of speech which caused him to stammer when pressed to speak without previous reflection. But Stephen as well as Mollie was precocious. His thoughtful eyes and full brow denoted unusual reasoning faculties. Habitually he spoke little, yet nothing seemed to escape his observation. He would absorb a sentence, an act or a scene and mentally puzzle upon it for hours, even days, until he arrived at what seemed to him a satisfactory solution or explanation. At his mention of books little Mollie beamed. "Can you read?" she asked eagerly. "I can say my letters and spell lots of words. My Mama taught me."