It was physically impossible for Miles Harding to carry Rex very far without stopping to rest. The life of a tramp, with insufficient nourishment, was not calculated to strengthen the long arms which could easily wrap themselves about the other boy, but had little power to retain him in their embrace.

But Miles fought to do his best. He only consented to stop and deposit his burden on the grass when he felt that, did he not do so, he would be compelled to drop it.

Then, after resting a moment or two, he would be off again.

"Don't; you will strain yourself," Rex whispered once, protestingly.

But Miles's only answer was, "I must. You can't be out here in the storm."

In this way they progressed until they had nearly reached the house. Then the rain began to come down in torrents.

Miles made a last desperate effort. Picking Rex up, he ran the intervening distance, although it was twice as far as he usually bore his burden without stopping.

He dashed in at the gate and then, so exhausted was he that he sank down beside Rex when he deposited the latter on the floor of the piazza. He lay there breathing hard, while the rain came down in sheets.

He had not even strength to turn his head when he heard the screen door behind him open and some one come out.

"Who-- who are you and what do you want?"

The question was put by a very sweet girlish voice. And the girl who put it was herself exceedingly pretty.

She had opened the door that led out from the wide, breezy hall, and stepped upon the piazza. She now looked down upon the two boys lying there with undisguised astonishment.

Then she came around so that Miles could see her.

"I beg your pardon, miss," he said, stopping between every three or four words to take breath; "I wanted to get-- him out of the-- rain. This was the nearest-- house. I hope you don't mind."

"Is he ill?" she asked.

Rex's face was turned partly towards her. It was very pale now, but Florence Raynor was thinking also how very handsome it was and in what contrast to that of the fellow who had answered her.

"Yes, he's very sick, I'm afraid," replied Miles.

"Is he your brother?" went on Florence.

"Oh, no; just-- a friend."

Miles hesitated before he added the last word; then when he had said it a look of pride came into his eyes for an instant.

"I'll call mother," said the girl, and she hurried off to the kitchen, where Mrs. Raynor was making cake.

"Oh, mama," she exclaimed, "the noise I heard was two tramps who had come in on our piazza out of the rain. At least one of them is a tramp, and the other is the nicest looking boy, about the age of our Bert. He's sick and just as pale! But he's dressed very well, and I can't understand how they came to be together. Won't you come out and see them, please?"

Mrs. Raynor scraped the dough from her lingers and followed her daughter to the front porch. Miles had gone over to take Rex's head on his knee and was softly stroking the hair back from the damp forehead.

"Oh, yes; the poor fellow is very ill," Mrs. Raynor exclaimed as soon as she saw him.

She scarcely gave a glance at Miles. She stood for one instant as if thinking deeply. Then with a resolved tone, she turned to Harding.

"Can you help me get him up stairs and in bed?" she asked.

"I guess so, ma'am," Miles replied. "I've got my breath back now. I have to carry him, you know. You're awfully good to take him in this way."

"One must be terribly hard hearted to turn away one in his condition. Come."

Between them they lifted Rex and bore him into the house and up the broad, easy stairs to a little room at the head of them.

"We must get these wet clothes off at once," said Mrs. Raynor, and Miles stayed there to help her.

They put him to bed, and then the good lady declared that they ought to have a doctor.

"Let me go for one," Miles exclaimed. "I want to do something for him."

Mrs. Raynor, now that Rex no longer absorbed her entire attention, turned her gaze on his companion. Miles colored beneath it.

"Perhaps you don't think I'm fit to go?" he............