I’ll have you filling out any other five-year-old’s clothes.”

“My hands —— they’re all gone,” remarked the child, holding out his arms. The blue sleeves did, indeed, cover them to the finger-tips. Laughing, Burns rolled the cloth back, making an awkward bunch at the wrist, but allowing the small hands freedom.

“When Mrs. Lessing trains her eye on you she’ll want to make time getting to the shops,” Burns observed, struggling with the scarlet scarf and finally tying it like a four-in-hand. “But you’re clean, Bob, and hungry, I hope. Now I want a great big hug to pay me for dressing you.”

He held out his arms, and his new charge sprang into them, pressing arms like sticks around the strong neck of the man who seemed to him al- ready the best friend he had in the world —-— as he was.

At eleven o’clock, a round of calls made, the Green Imp came for Bob and Mrs. Lessing. They met him, hand in hand, the little figure in its voluminous misfit clothes looking quaint enough beside the perfect outlines of his com-

panion’s attire. But both faces were very happy.