CHAPTER XI.
SUNDAY Mrs.Moss woke Ben with a kiss next morning, for her heart yearned over the fatherless lad as if he had been her own, and she had no other way of showing her sympathy.

Ben had forgotten his troubles in sleep; but the memory of them returned as soon as he opened his eyes, heavy with the tears they had shed.

He did not cry any more, but felt strange and lonely till he called Sancho and told him all about it, for he was shy even with kind Mrs.Moss, and glad when she went away.
Sancho seemed to understand that his master was in trouble, and listened to the sad little story with gurgles of interest, whines of condolence, and intelligent barks whenever the word "daddy" was uttered.

He was only a brute, but his dumb affection comforted the boy more than any words; for Sanch had known and loved "father" almost as long and well as his son, and that seemed to draw them closely together, now they were left alone.
"We must put on mourning, old feller.

It's the proper thing, and there's nobody else to do it now," said Ben, as he dressed, remembering how all the company wore bits of crape somewhere about them at 'Melia's funeral.
It was a real sacrifice of boyish vanity to take the blue ribbon with its silver anchors off the new hat, and replace it with the dingy black band from the old one; but Ben was quite sincere in doing this, though doubtless his theatrical life made him think of the effect more than other lads would have done.