So I wanted to tell ye--that of course I shouldn't expect to stay.

I'd go." As he said the words, Pete stood with head and shoulders erect, his eyes looking straight forward but not at Billy.
"Don't you _want_ to stay ?" The girlish voice was a little reproachful.
Pete's head drooped.
"Not if--I'm not wanted," came the husky reply.
With an impulsive movement Billy came straight to the old man's side and held out her hand.
"Pete!" Amazement, incredulity, and a look that was almost terror crossed the old man's face; then a flood of dull red blotted them all out and left only worshipful rapture.

With a choking cry he took the slim little hand in both his rough and twisted ones much as if he were possessing himself of a treasured bit of eggshell china.
"Miss Billy!" "Pete, there aren't a pair of feet in Boston, nor a pair of hands, either, that I'd rather have serve me than yours, no matter if they stumble and blunder all day! I shall love stumbles and blunders--if you make them.

Now run home, and don't ever let me hear another syllable about your leaving!" They were not the words Billy had intended to say.

She had meant to speak of his long, faithful service, and of how much they appreciated it; but, to her surprise, Billy found her own eyes wet and her own voice trembling, and the words that she would have said she found fast shut in her throat.