CALVARY ALLEY

 BY ALICE HEGAN RICE

 1917

Author of "MRS. WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH, " "LOVEY MARY, " "SANDY, " ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER BIGGS

THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO THE SMALL BAND OF KENTUCKYWRITERS WITH WHOM IT HAS BEEN MY HAPPY FORTUNE TO MAKE THE LITERARYPILGRIMAGE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I THE FIGHT II THE SNAWDORS AT HOME III THE CLARKES AT HOME IV JUVENILE COURT V ON PROBATION VI BUTTERNUT LANE VII AN EVICTION VIII AMBITION STIRS IX BUTTONS X THE PRINCESS COMES TO GRIEF XI THE STATE TAKES A HAND XII CLARKE'S XIII EIGHT TO SIX XIV IDLENESS XV MARKING TIME XVI MISS BOBINET'S XVII BEHIND THE TWINKLING LIGHTS XVIII THE FIRST NIGHT XIX PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT XX WILD OATS XXI DAN XXII IN THE SIGNAL TOWER XXIII CALVARY CATHEDRAL XXIV BACK AT CLARKE'S XXV MAC XXVI BETWEEN TWO FIRES XXVII FATE TAKES A HANDXXVIII THE PRICE OF ENLIGHTENMENT XXIX IN TRAINING XXX HER FIRST CASE XXXI MR. DEMRY XXXII THE NEW FOREMANXXXIII NANCE COMES INTO HER OWN

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"The boy is infatuated with that girl"

"Her tense muscles relaxed; she forgot to cry"

"Don't call a policeman!" she implored wildly

CALVARY ALLEY

CHAPTER I

THE FIGHT

You never would guess in visiting Cathedral Court, with its people's halland its public baths, its clean, paved street and general air of smugpropriety, that it harbors a notorious past. But those who knew it by itsmaiden name, before it was married to respectability, recall CalvaryAlley as a region of swarming tenements, stale beer dives, and frequentpolice raids. The sole remaining trace of those unregenerate days is theprint of a child's foot in the concrete walk just where it leaves thecourt and turns into the cathedral yard. 

All the tired feet that once plodded home from factory and foundry, allthe unsteady feet that staggered in from saloon and dance-hall, all thefleeing feet that sought a hiding place, have long since passed away andleft no record of their passing. Only that one small footprint, with itsperfect outline, still pauses on its way out of the alley into the greatworld beyond. 

At the time Nance Molloy stepped into that soft concrete and thus set inmotion the series of events that was to influence her future career, shehad never been told that her inalienable rights were life, liberty, andthe pursuit of happiness. Nevertheless she had claimed them intuitively. When at the age of one she had crawled out of the soap-box that served asa cradle, and had eaten half a box of stove polish, she was acting instrict accord with the Constitution. 

By the time she reached the sophisticated age of eleven her ideals hadchanged, but her principles remained firm. She did not stoop to beg forher rights, but struck out for them boldly with her small bare fists. Shewas a glorious survival of that primitive Kentucky type that stood sideby side with man in the early battles and fought valiantly for herself. 

On the hot August day upon which she began to make history, she stood inthe gutter amid a crowd of yelling boys, her feet far apart, her handsfull of mud, waiting tensely to chastise the next sleek head that daredshow itself above the cathedral fence. She wore a boy's shirt and aragged brown skirt that flapped about her sturdy bare legs. Her mattedhair was bound in two disheveled braids around her head and secured witha piece of shoe-string. Her dirty round face was lighted up by a pair ofdancing blue eyes, in which just now blazed the unholy light of conflict. 

The feud between the Calvary Micks and the choir boys was an ancientone, carried on from one generation to another and gaining prestige withage. It was apt to break out on Saturday afternoons, after rehearsal, when the choirmaster had taken his departure. Frequently the disturbanceamounted to no more than taunts and jeers on one side and threats andrecriminations on the other, but the atmosphere that it created was ofthat electrical nature that might at any moment develop a storm. 

Nance Molloy, at the beginning of the present controversy, had beenactively engaged in civil warfare in which the feminine element of thealley was pursuing a defensive policy against the marauding masculine. But at the first indication of an outside enemy, the herd instinctmanifested itself, and she allied herself with prompt and passionateloyalty to the cause of the Calvary Micks. 

The present argument was raging over the possession of a spade that hadbeen left in the alley by the workmen who were laying a concrete pavementinto the cathedral yard. 

"Aw, leave 'em have it!" urged a philosophical alleyite from the top of abarrel. "Them ole avenoo kids ain't nothin'!--We could lick daylightouten 'em if we wanted to. "

"Ye-e-e-s you could!" came in a chorus of jeers from the fence top, and abrown-eyed youth in a white-frilled shirt, with a blue Windsor tieknotted under his sailor collar, added imperiously, "You get too freshdown there, and I'll call the janitor!"

This gross breach of military etiquette evoked a retort from Nance thatwas too inelegant to chronicle. 

"Tomboy! tomboy!" jeered the brown-eyed youth from above. "Why don't youborrow some girls' clothes?"

"All right, Sissy, " said Nance, "lend me yours. "

The Micks shrieked their approval, while Nance rolled a mud ball and, with the deadly aim of a sharpshooter, let it fly straight at thewhite-frilled bosom of her tormentor. 

"Soak it to her, Mac, " yelled the boy next to him, "the kid's got nobusiness butting in! Make her get out of the way!"

"Go on and make me!" implored Nance. 

"I will if you don't stand back, " threatened the boy called Mac. 

Nance promptly stepped up to the alley gate and wiggled her fingers in away peculiarly provocative to a juvenile enemy. 

"Poor white trash!" he jeered. "You stay where you belong! Don't you stepon our concrete!"

"Will if I want to. It's my foot. I'll put it where I like. "

"Bet you don't. You're afraid to. "

"I ain't either. "

"Well, _do_ it then. I dare you! Anybody that would take a--"

In a second Nance had thrust her leg as far as possible between theboards that warned the public to keep out, and had planted a small alienfoot firmly in the center of the soft cement. 

This audacious act was the signal for instant battle. With yells ofindignation the choir boys hurled themselves from the fence, anddescended upon their foes. Mud gave place to rocks, sticks clashed, theair resounded with war cries. Ash barrels were overturned, straying catsmade flying leaps for safety, heads appeared at doorways and windows, andfrantic mothers made futile efforts to quell the riot. 

Thus began the greatest fight ever enjoyed in Calvary Alley. It went downin neighborhood annals as the decisive clash between the classes, inwhich the despised swells "was learnt to know their places onct an' ferall!" For ten minutes it raged with unabated fury, then when the tide ofbattle began to set unmistakably in favor of the alley, parentalauthority waned and threats changed to cheers. Old and young united inthe conviction that the Monroe Doctrine must be maintained at any cost!

In and out of the subsiding pandemonium darted Nance Molloy, covered withmud from the shoestring on her hair to the rag about her toe, giving andtaking blows with the best, and emitting yells of frenzied victory overevery vanquished foe. Suddenly her transports were checked by adisturbing sight. At the end of the alley, locked in mortal combat, shebeheld her arch-enemy, he of the brown eyes and the frilled shirt, whomthe boys called Mac, sitting astride the hitherto invincible Dan Lewis, the former philosopher of the ash barrel and one of the acknowledgedleaders of the Calvary Micks. 

It was a moment of intense chagrin for Nance, untempered by the fact thatDan's adversary was much the bigger boy. Up to this time, the wholeaffair had been a glorious game, but at the sight of the valiant Danlying helpless on his back, his mouth bloody from the blows of the boyabove him, the comedy changed suddenly to tragedy. With a swift chargefrom the rear, she flung herself upon the victor, clapping her mud-daubedhands about his eyes and dragging him backward with a force that sentthem both rolling in the gutter. 

Blind with fury, the boy scrambled to his feet, and, seizing a rock, hurled it with all his strength after the retreating Dan. The missileflew wide of its mark and, whizzing high over the fence, crashed throughthe great rose window that was the special pride of Calvary Cathedral. 

The din of breaking glass, the simultaneous appearance of a cross-eyedpoliceman, and of Mason, the outraged janitor, together with thehorrified realization of what had happened, brought the frenziedcombatants to their senses. Amid a clamor of accusations and denials, thepoliceman seized upon two culprits and indicated a third. 

"You let me go!" shrieked Mac. "My father'll make it all right! Tell himwho I am, Mason! Make him let me go!"

But Mason was bent upon bringing all the criminals to justice. 

"I'm going to have you all up before the juvenile court, rich and poor!"he declared excitedly. "You been deviling the life out of me long enough!If the vestry had 'a' listened at me and had you up before now, thatwindow wouldn't be smashed. I told the bishop something was going tohappen, and he says, 'The next time there's trouble, you find the leadersand swear out a warrant. Don't wait to ask anybody!'"

By this time every window in the tenement at the blind end of the alleyhad been converted into a proscenium box, and suggestions, advice, andincriminating evidence were being freely volunteered. 

"Who started this here racket, anyhow?" asked the policeman, in the boredtone of one who is rehearsing an oft-repeated scene. 

"I did, " declared Nance Molloy, with something of the femininegratification Helen of Troy must have felt when she "launched a thousandships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium. "

"You Nance!" screamed a woman from a third-story window. "You know younever done no such a thing! I was settin' here an' seen ever'thing thathappened; it was them there boys. "

"So it was you, Dan Lewis, was it?" said the policeman, recognizing oneof his panting victims, the one whose ragged shirt had been torncompletely off, leaving his heaving chest and brown shoulders bare. "An'it ain't surprised, I am. Who is this other little dude?"

"None of your business!" cried Mac furiously, trying to wrench himselffree. "I tell you my father will pay for the darned old window. "

"Aisy there, " said the policeman. "Does anybody know him?"

"It's Mr. Clarke's son, up at the bottle works, " said Mason. 

"You let me go, " shrieked the now half-frantic boy. "My father 'll makeyou pay for this. You see if he don't!"

"None o' your guff, " said the policeman. "I ain't wantin' to keep you nowI got your name. Onny more out o' the boonch, Mr. Mason?"

Mason swept a gleaning eye over the group, and as he did so he spied thefootprint, in the concrete. 

"Who did that?" he demanded in a fresh burst of wrath. 

Those choir boys who had not fled the scene gave prompt and incriminatingtestimony. 

"No! she never!" shouted the woman from the third floor, now suspendedhalf-way out of the window. "Nance Molloy was up here a-washin' disheswith me. Don't you listen at them pasty-faced cowards a-puttin' it off ona innercent little girl!"

But the innocent little girl had no idea of seeking refuge in her sex. Hers had been a glorious and determining part in the day's battle, andthe distinction of having her name taken down with those of the greatleaders was one not to be foregone. 

"I did do it, " she declared excitedly. "That there boy dared me to. Ketchme takin' a dare offen a avenoo kid!"

"What's your name, Sis?" asked the policeman. 

"Nance Molloy. "

"Where do you live?"

"Up there at Snawdor's. That there was Mis' Snawdor a-yellin' at me. "

"Is she yer mother?"

"Nope. She's me step. "

"And yer father?"

"He's me step too. I'm a two-step, " she added with an impudent toss ofthe head to show her contempt for the servant of the law, a blue-coated, brass-buttoned interloper who swooped down on you from around corners, and reported you at all times and seasons. 

By this time Mrs. Snawdor had gotten herself down the two flights ofstairs, and was emerging from the door of the tenement, taking down hercurl papers as she came. She was a plump, perspiring person who mighthave boasted good looks had it not been for two eye-teeth that completelydominated her facial landscape. 

"You surely ain't fixin' to report her?" she asked ingratiatinglyof Mason. "A little 'leven-year-ole orphin that never done no harmto nobody?"

"It's no use arguing, " interrupted Mason firmly. "I'm going to file out awarrant against them three children if it's the last act of my mortallife. There ain't a boy in the alley that gives me any more trouble thanthat there little girl, a-throwin' mud over the fence and climbing roundthe coping and sneaking into the cathedral to look under the pews fornickels, if I so much as turn my back!"

"He wants the nickels hisself!" cried Nance shrilly, pushing her noseflat and pursing her lips in such a clever imitation of the irate janitorthat the alley shrieked with joy. 

"You limb o' Satan!" cried Mrs. Snawdor, making a futile pass at her. "It's a God's mericle you ain't been took up before this! And it's me as'll have the brunt to bear, a-stoppin' my work to go to court, a-lying toyer good character, an' a-payin' the fine. It's a pity able-bodied menlike policemens an' janitors can't be tendin' their own business 'stidof comin' interferin' with the family of a hard-workin' woman like me. Ifthere's any justice in this world it ain't never flowed in mydirection!"

And Mrs. Snawdor, half dragging, half pushing Nance, disappeared into thedark entrance of the tenement, breathing maledictions first against hercharge, then against the tyranny of the law. 

CHAPTER II

THE SNAWDORS AT HOME

If ever a place had a down-at-heel, out-of-elbow sort of look, it wasCalvary Alley. At its open end and two feet above it the city wentrushing and roaring past like a great river, quite oblivious of thisunhealthy bit of backwater into which some of its flotsam and jetsam hadbeen caught and held, generating crime and disease and sending them outagain into the main current. 

For despite the fact that the alley rested under the very wing of thegreat cathedral from which it took its name, despite the fact that itechoed daily to the chimes in the belfry and at times could even hear themurmured prayers of the congregation, it concerned itself not in theleast with matters of the spirit. Heaven was too remote and mysterious, Hell too present and prosaic, to be of the least interest. And thecathedral itself, holding out welcoming arms to all the noble avenuesthat stretched in leafy luxury to the south, forgot entirely to glanceover its shoulder at the sordid little neighbor that lay under the veryshadow of its cross. 

At the blind end of the alley, wedged in between two toweringwarehouses, was Number One, a ramshackle tenement which in some forgottenday had been a fine old colonial residence. The city had long sincehemmed it in completely, and all that remained of its former grandeurwere a flight of broad steps that once boasted a portico and theimposing, fan-shaped arch above the doorway. 

In the third floor of Number One, on the side next the cathedral, dweltthe Snawdor family, a social unit of somewhat complex character. Thecomplication came about by the paterfamilias having missed his calling. Mr. Snawdor was by instinct and inclination a bachelor. He had early inlife found a modest rut in which he planned to run undisturbed intoeternity, but he had been discovered by a widow, who was possessed of aninitiative which, to a man of Snawdor's retiring nature, was destiny. 

At the time she met him she had already led two reluctant captives to thehymeneal altar, and was wont to boast, when twitted about the fact, that"the Lord only knew what she might 'a' done if it hadn't been fer themeye-teeth!" Her first husband had been Bud Molloy, a genial youngIrishman who good-naturedly allowed himself to be married out ofgratitude for her care of his motherless little Nance. Bud had not livedto repent the act; in less than a month he heroically went over anembankment with his engine, in one of those fortunate accidents in which"only the engineer is killed. "

The bereft widow lost no time in seeking consolation. Naturally the firstperson to present himself on terms of sympathetic intimacy was theundertaker who officiated at poor Bud's funeral. At the end of six monthsshe married him, and was just beginning to enjoy the prestige which hisprofession gave her, when Mr. Yager also passed away, becoming, as itwere, his own customer. Her legacy from him consisted of a completeembalming outfit and a feeble little Yager who inherited her father'stendency to spells. 

Thus encumbered with two small girls, a less sanguine person would haveretired from the matrimonial market. But Mrs. Yager was not easilydiscouraged; she was of a marrying nature, and evidently resolved thatneither man nor Providence should stand in her way. Again casting aspeculative eye over the field, she discerned a new shop in the alley, the sign of which announced that the owner dealt in "Bungs and Fawcetts. "On the evening of the same day the chronic ailment from which the kitchensink had suffered for two years was declared to be acute, and Mr. Snawdorwas called in for consultation. 

He was a timid, dejected person with a small pointed chin that trembledwhen he spoke. Despite the easy conventions of the alley, he kept hisclothes neatly brushed and his shoes polished, and wore a collar on weekdays. These signs of prosperity were his undoing. Before he had time torealize what was happening to him, he had been skilfully jolted out ofhis rut by the widow's experienced hand, and bumped over a hurriedcourtship into a sudden marriage. He returned to consciousness to findhimself possessed of a wife and two stepchildren and moved from his smallneat room over his shop to the indescribable disorder of Number One. 

The subsequent years had brought many little Snawdors in their wake, andMr. Snawdor, being thus held up by the highwayman Life, ignominiouslysurrendered. He did not like being married; he did not enjoy being afather; his one melancholy satisfaction lay in being a martyr. 

Mrs. Snawdor, who despite her preference for the married state derivedlittle joy from domestic duties, was quite content to sally forth as awage-earner. By night she scrubbed office buildings and by day she sleptand between times she sought diversion in the affairs of her neighbors. 

Thus it was that the household burdens fell largely upon Nance Molloy'ssmall shoulders, and if she wiped the dishes without washing them, and"shook up the beds" without airing them, and fed the babies dill pickles, it was no more than older housekeepers were doing all around her. 

Late in the afternoon of the day of the fight, when the sun, despairingof making things any hotter than they were, dropped behind the warehouse, Nance, carrying a box of crackers, a chunk of cheese, and a bucket ofbeer, dodged in and out among the push-carts and the barrels of the alleyon her way home from Slap Jack's saloon. There was a strong temptation onher part to linger, for a hurdy-gurdy up at the corner was playing afavorite tune, and echoes of the fight were still heard from animatedgroups in various doorways. But Nance's ears still tingled from a recentboxing, and she resolutely kept on her way until she reached the wornsteps of Number One and scurried through its open doorway. 

The nice distinction between a flat and a tenement is that the frontdoor of one is always kept closed, and the other open. In thisparticular instance the matter admitted of no discussion, for there wasno front door. The one that originally hung under the fan-shapedColonial arch had long since been kicked in during some nocturnal raid, and had never been replaced. 

When the gas neglected to get itself lighted before dark at Number One, you had to feel your way along the hall in complete darkness, until yourfoot struck something; then you knew you had reached the stairs and youbegan to climb. It was just as well to feel along the damp wall as youwent, for somebody was always leaving things on the steps for people tostumble over. 

Nance groped her way cautiously, resting her bucket every few steps andtaking a lively interest in the sounds and smells that came from behindthe various closed doors she passed. She knew from the angry voices onthe first floor that Mr. Smelts had come home "as usual"; she knew whowas having sauerkraut for supper, and whose bread was burning. 

The odor of cooking food reminded her of something. The hall was dark andthe beer can full, so she sat down at the top of the first flight and, putting her lips to the foaming bucket was about to drink, when the doorbehind her opened and a keen-faced young Jew peered out. 

"Say, Nance, " he whispered curiously, "have they swore out the warranton you yet?"

Nance put down the bucket and looked up at him with a fine air ofunconcern. 

"Don't know and don't keer!" she said. "Where was you hidin' at, when thefight was goin' on?"

"Getting my lessons. Did the cop pinch the Clarke guy?"

"You betcher, " said Nance. "You orter seen the way he took on! Begged tobeat the band. Me and Danny never. Me and him--"

A volley of curses came from the hall below, the sound of a blow, followed by a woman's faint scream of protest, then a door slammed. 

"If I was Mis' Smelts, " said Nance darkly, with a look that was too oldfor ten years, "I wouldn't stand for that. I wouldn't let no man hit me. I'd get him sent up. I--"

"You walk yourself up them steps, Nance Molloy!" commanded Mrs. Snawdor'srasping voice from the floor above. "I ain't got no time to be waitin'while you gas with Ike Lavinsky. "

Nance, thus admonished, obeyed orders, arriving on the domestic hearth intime to prevent the soup from boiling over. Mr. Snawdor, wearing a longapron and an expression of tragic doom, was trying to set the table, while over and above and beneath him surged his turbulent offspring. In abroken rocking-chair, fanning herself with a box-top, sat Mrs. Snawdor, indulging herself in a continuous stream of conversation and apparentlyundisturbed by the uproar around her. Mrs. Snawdor was not sensitive todiscord. As a necessary adjustment to their environment, her nerves hadbecome soundproof. 

"You certainly missed it by not being here!" she was saying to Mr. Snawdor. "It was one of the liveliest mix-ups ever I seen! One of themrich boys bust the cathedral window. Some say it'll cost over a thousan'dollars to git it fixed. An' I pray to God his paw'll have to pay everycent of it!"

"Can't you make William J. And Rosy stop that racket?" queried Mr. Snawdor, plaintively. The twins had been named at a time when Mrs. Snawdor's loyalty was wavering between the President and anotherdistinguished statesman with whom she associated the promising phrase, "free silver. " The arrival of two babies made a choice unnecessary, and, notwithstanding the fact that one of them was a girl, she named themWilliam J. And Roosevelt, reluctantly abbreviating the latter to "Rosy. "

"They ain't hurtin' nothin', " she said, impatient of the interruption toher story. "I wisht you might 'a' seen that ole fool Mason a-lordin' itaroun', an' that little devil Nance a-takin' him off to the life. Everybody nearly died a-laughin' at her. But he says he's goin' to haveher up in court, an' I ain't got a blessed thing to wear 'cept that olehat of yours I trimmed up. Looks like a shame fer a woman never to befixed to go nowhere!"

Mr. Snawdor, who had been trying ineffectually to get in a word, tookthis remark personally and in muttering tones called Heaven to witnessthat it was none of his fault that she didn't have the right clothes, andthat it was a pretty kind of a world that would keep a man from gettin'on just because he was honest, and--

"Oh, shut up!" said Mrs. Snawdor, unfeelingly; "it ain't yer lack ofwork that gits on my nerves; it's yer bein' 'round. I'd pay anybody aquarter a week to keep yer busy!"

Nance, during this exchange of conjugal infelicities, assisted by Lobeliaand Fidy, was rescuing sufficient dishes from the kitchen sink to servefor the evening meal. She, too, was finding it difficult to bring herattention to bear on domestic matters after the exciting events of theafternoon. 

"An' he says to me, "--she was recounting with dramatic intensity to heradmiring audience--"he says, 'Keep offen that concrete. ' An' I says, 'It'll take somebody bigger'n you to make me!'"

Now, of course, we know that Nance never said that, but it was what shewished she had said, which, at certain moments in life, seems to the bestof us to be quite the same thing. 

"Then what?" said Fidy, with a plate suspended in air. 

"Then, " said Nance with sparkling eyes, "I sticks my foot right in themiddle of their old concrete, an' they comes pilin' offen the fence, an'Dan Lewis he--"

"You Nance!" came in warning tones from the other room, "you shet yourhead an' git on with that supper. Here comes your Uncle Jed this minute!"

At this announcement Nance dropped her dish towel, and dashing to thedoor flung herself into the arms of a short, fat, baldheaded man who hadjust come out of the front room across the hall. 

"Easy there!" warned the new-comer. "You ain't aimin' to butt the engineclean offen the track, air yer?"

Nance got his arm around her neck, and her arm around his knees, and thusentwined they made their way to the table. 

Uncle Jed Burks, uncle by courtesy, was a boarder by day and agate-tender by night at the signal tower at the railroad crossing. Onthat day long ago when he had found himself a widower, helpless in theface of domestic problems, he had accepted Mrs. Snawdor's prompt offer ofhospitality and come across the hall for his meals. At the end of theweek he had been allowed to show his gratitude by paying the rent, and bythe end of the month he had become the chief prop of the family. It isdifficult to conceive of an Atlas choosing to burden himself with theworld, but there are temperaments that seek responsibilities just asthere are those, like Mr. Snawdor, who refuse them. 

Through endless discomforts, Uncle Jed had stayed on, coaxing Mr. Snawdorinto an acceptance of his lot, helping Mrs. Snawdor over financialdifficulties, and bestowing upon the little Snawdors the affection whichthey failed to elicit from either the maternal or the paternal bosom. Andthe amazing thing was that Uncle Jed always thought he was receivingfavors instead of conferring them. 

"What's this I hear about my little partner gittin' into trouble?" heasked, catching Nance's chin in his palm and turning her smudged, excitedface up to his. 

Nance's eyes fell before his glance. For the first time since the fighther pride was mingled with misgiving. But when Mrs. Snawdor plunged intoa fresh recital of the affair, with evident approval of the part she hadplayed, her self-esteem returned. 

"And you say Mason's fixin' to send her up to the juvenile court?" askedUncle Jed gravely, his fat hand closing on her small one. 

"Dan Lewis has got to go too!" said Nance, a sudden apprehension seizingher at Uncle Jed's solemn face. 

"Oh, they won't do nothin' to 'em, " said Mrs. Snawdor, pouring hot waterover the coffee grounds and shaking the pot vigorously. "Everybody knowsit was the Clarke boy that bust the window. Clarke's Bottle Works' son, you know, up there on Zender Street. "

"Was it the Clarke boy and Dan Lewis that started the fracas?" askedUncle Jed. 

"No, it was me!" put in Nance. 

"Now, Nance Molloy, you lemme hear you say that one time more, an' youknow what'll happen!" said Mrs. Snawdor, impressively. "You're fixin' tomake me pay a fine. "

"I'm mighty sorry Dan Lewis is mixed up in it, " said Uncle Jed, shakinghis head. "This here's his second offense. He was had up last year. "

"An' can you wonder?" asked Mrs. Snawdor, "with his mother what she is?"

"Mrs. Lewis ain't a bad looker, " Mr. Snawdor roused himself to observedejectedly. 

His wife turned upon him indignantly. "Well, it's a pity she ain't asgood as her looks then. Fer my part I can't see it's to any woman'scredit to look nice when she's got the right kind of a switch and a goodset of false teeth. It's the woman that keeps her good looks without noneof them luxuries that orter be praised. "

"Mrs. Lewis ain't done her part by Dan, " said Uncle Jed, seating himselfat the red-clothed table. 

"I should say she ain't, " Mrs. Snawdor continued. "I never seen nothin'more pathetical than that there boy when he was no more than three yearsold, a-tryin' to feed hisself outer the garbage can, an' her a comin an'a goin' in the alley all these years with her nose in the air, too goodto speak to anybody. "

"Dan don't think his mother's bad to him, " said Nance. "He saved up hisshoe-shine money an' bought her some perfumery. He lemme smell it. "

"Oh, yes!" said Mrs. Snawdor, "she's got to have her perfumery, an' herfeather in her hat, an' the whitewash on her face, no matter if Dan'sfeet are on the groun', an' his naked hide shinin' through his shirt. "

"Well, I wish him an' this here little girl wasn't mixed up in thisbusiness, " repeated Uncle Jed. "Courts ain't no place fer children. Seemslike I can't stand fer our little Nance to be mixin' up with shadycharacters. "

Nance shot an apprehensive glance at him and began to look anxious. Shehad never seen Uncle Jed so solemn before. 

"You jes' remember this here, Nancy, " went on the signalman, who could nomore refrain from pointing a moral when the chance presented itself, thana gun can help going off when the trigger is pulled; "nothin' good evercomes from breakin' laws. They wouldn't a-been made into laws if theywasn't fer our good, an' even when we don't see no reason in keepin' 'em, we ain't got no more right to break through than one of them engines upat the crossing's got a right to come ahead when I signals it from thetower to stop. I been handin' out laws to engines fer goin' on thirtyyear, an' I never seen one yet that bust over a law that didn't come togrief. You keep on the track, Sister, an' watch the signals an' obeyorders an' you'll find it pays in the end. An' now, buck up, an' don't bescared. We'll see what we can do to git you off. "

"Who's skeered?" said Nance, with a defiant toss of her head. "I ain'tskeered of nothin'. "

But that night when Mrs. Snawdor and Uncle Jed had gone to work, and Mr. Snawdor had betaken himself out of ear-shot of the wailing baby, Nance'scourage began to waver. After she had finished her work and crawled intobed between Fidy and Lobelia, the juvenile court, with its unknownterrors, rose before her. All the excitement of the day died out; herpride in sharing the punishment with Dan Lewis vanished. She lay staringup into the darkness, swallowing valiantly to keep down the sobs, fiercely resolved not to let her bed-fellows witness the break-down ofher courage. 

"What's the matter, Nance?" asked Fidy. 

"I'm hot!" said Nance, crossly. "It feels like the inside of aoven in here!"

"I bet Maw forgot to open the window into the shaft, " said Fidy. 

"Windows don't do no good, " said Nance; "they just let in smells. Wisht Iwas a man! You bet I would be up at Slap Jack's! I'd set under a 'lectricfan, an' pour cold things down me an' listen at the 'phoney-graf ever'night. Hush! Is that our baby?"

A faint wail made her scramble out of bed and rush into the back roomwhere she gathered a hot, squirming bundle into her arms and peeredanxiously into its wizened face. She knew the trick babies had of dyingwhen the weather was hot! Two other beloved scraps of humanity had beentaken away from her, and she was fiercely determined to keep this one. Lugging the baby to the window, she scrambled over the sill. 

The fire-escape was cluttered with all the paraphernalia that doubles thecasualty of a tenement fire, but she cleared a space with her foot andsat down on the top step. Beside her loomed the blank warehouse wall, andfrom the narrow passage-way below came the smell of garbage. The clangingof cars and the rumbling of trucks mingled with the nearer sounds ofwhirring sewing machines in Lavinski's sweat-shop on the floor below. From somewhere around the corner came, at intervals, the sharp cry of awoman in agony. With that last sound Nance was all too familiar. Thecoming and going of a human life were no mystery to her. But each timethe cry of pain rang out she tried in vain to stop her ears. At last, hot, hungry, lonesome, and afraid, she laid her dirty face against thebaby's fuzzy head and they sobbed together in undisturbed misery. 

When at last the child fell into a restless sleep, Nance sat patientlyon, her small arms stiffening under their burden, and her bare feet andlegs smarting from the stings of hungry mosquitos. 

By and by the limp garments on the clothes line overhead began to stir, and Nance, lifting her head gratefully to the vagrant breeze, caught herbreath. There, just above the cathedral spire, white and cool amongfleecy clouds, rose the full August moon. It was the same moon that atthat moment was turning ocean waves into silver magic; that was smilingon sleeping forests and wind-swept mountains and dancing streams. Yethere it was actually taking the trouble to peep around the cathedralspire and send the full flood of its radiance into the most sordidcorners of Calvary Alley, even into the unawakened soul of the dirty, ragged, tear-stained little girl clasping the sick baby on Snawdor'sfire-escape. 

[Illustration: "Her tense muscles relaxed; she forgot to cry"]

Something in Nance responded. Her tense muscles relaxed; she forgot tocry. With eyes grown big and wistful, she watched the shining orb. Allthe bravado, the fear, and rebellion died out of her, and in hushedwonder she got from the great white night what God in heaven meant forus to get. 

CHAPTER III

THE CLARKES AT HOME

While the prodigal son of the house of Clarke was engaged in breakingstained-glass windows in Calvary Alley, his mother was at homeentertaining the bishop with a recital of his virtues andaccomplishments. Considering the fact that Bishop Bland's dislike forchildren was notorious, he was bearing the present ordeal with unusualfortitude. 

They were sitting on the spacious piazza at Hill-crest, the countryhome of the Clarkes, the massive foundation of which was popularlysupposed to rest upon bottles. It was a piazza especially designed tooffset the discomforts of a Southern August afternoon and to make avisitor, especially if he happened to be an ecclesiastical potentatewith a taste for luxury, loath to forsake its pleasant shade for theglaring world without. 

"Yes, yes, " he agreed for the fourth time, "a very fine boy. I must say Igive myself some credit for your marriage and its successful result. "

Mrs. Clarke paused in her tea-pouring and gazed absently off across thetree tops. 

"I suppose I ought to be happy, " she said, and she sighed. 

"Every heart knoweth its own--two lumps, thank you, and a dash of rum. Iwas saying--Oh, yes! I was about to remark that we are all prone tomagnify our troubles. Now here you are, after all these years, stillbrooding over your unfortunate father, when he is probably long sincereturned to France, quite well and happy. "

"If I could only be sure. It has been so long since we heard, nearlythirteen years! The last letter was the one you got when Mac was born. "

"Yes, and I answered him in detail, assuring him of your completerecovery, and expressing my hope that he would never again burden youuntil with God's help he had mastered the sin that had been his undoing. "

Mrs. Clarke shook her head impatiently. 

"You and Macpherson never understood about father. He came to thiscountry without a friend or a relation except mother and me. Then shedied, and he worked day and night to keep me in a good boarding-school, and to give me every advantage that a girl could have. Then his healthbroke, and he couldn't sleep, and he began taking drugs. Oh, I don't seehow anybody could blame him, after all he had been through!"

"For whatever sacrifices he made, he was amply rewarded, " the bishopsaid. "Few fathers have the satisfaction of seeing their daughters moresuccessfully established in life. "

"Yes, but what has it all come to for him? Made to feel his disgrace, aware of Macpherson's constant disapproval--I don't wonder he chose togive me up entirely. "

"It was much the best course for all concerned, " said the bishop, withthe assured tone of one who enjoys the full confidence of Providence. "The fact that he had made shipwreck of his own life was no reason forhim to make shipwreck of yours. I remember saying those very words tohim when he told me of Mr. Clarke's attitude. Painful as was yourdecision, you did quite right in yielding to our judgment in the matterand letting him go. "

"But Macpherson ought not to have asked it of me. He's so good and kindand good about most things, that I don't see how he could have felt theway he did about father. "

The bishop laid a consoling hand on her arm. 

"Your husband was but protecting you and himself against untoldannoyance. Think of what it would have meant for a man of Mr. Clarke'sposition to have a person of your father's habits a member of hishousehold!"

"But father was perfectly gentle and harmless--more like an afflictedchild than anything else. When he was without an engagement he would gofor weeks at a time, happy with his books and his music, withoutbreaking over at all. "

"Ah, yes! But what about the influence of his example on your growingson? Imagine the humiliation to your child. "

Mrs. Clarke's vulnerable spot was touched. 

"I had forgotten Mac!" she said. "He must be my first consideration, mustn't he? I never intend for him to bear any burden that I can bear forhim. And yet, how father would have adored him, how proud he would havebeen of his voice! But there, you must forgive me for bringing up thispainful subject. It is only when I think of father getting old and beingill, possibly in want, with nobody in the world--"

"Now, now, my dear lady, " said the bishop, "you are indulging in morbidfancies. Your father knows that with a stroke of the pen he can procureall the financial assistance from you he may desire. As to his beingunhappy, I doubt it extremely. My recollection of him is of a veryplacid, amiable man living more in his dreams than in reality. "

Mrs. Clarke smiled through her tears. 

"You are quite right. He didn't ask much of life. A book in his hand anda child on his knee meant happiness for him. "

"And those he can have wherever he is, " said her spiritual adviser. "NowI want you to turn away from all these gloomy forebodings and leave thematter entirely in God's hands. "

"And you think I have done my duty?"

"Assuredly. It is your poor father who has failed to do his. You are amodel wife and an almost too devoted mother. You are zealous in your workat the cathedral; you--"

"There!" said Mrs. Clarke, smiling, "I know I don't deserve all thosecompliments, but they do help me. Now let's talk of something else whileI give you a fresh cup of tea. Tell me what the board did yesterday aboutthe foreign mission fund. "

The bishop, relieved to see the conversation drifting into calmer waters, accepted the second cup and the change of topic with equal satisfaction. His specialty was ministering to the sorrows of the very rich, but hepreferred to confine his spiritual visits to the early part of theafternoon, leaving the latter part free for tea-drinking and theecclesiastical gossip so dear to his heart. 

"Well, " he said, leaning back luxuriously in his deep willow chair, "we carried our point after some difficulty. Too many of our gooddirectors take refuge in the old excuse that charity should begin athome. It should, my dear Elise, but as I have said before, it shouldnot end there!"

Having delivered himself of this original observation, the bishop helpedhimself to another sandwich. 

"The special object of my present visit, " he said, "aside from thepleasure it always gives me to be in your delightful home, is to interestyou and your good husband in a mission we are starting in Mukden, a mostungodly place, I fear, in Manchuria. A thousand dollars from Mr. Clarkeat this time would be most acceptable, and I shall leave it to you, mydear lady, to put the matter before him, with all the tact and persuasionfor which you are so justly noted. "

Mrs. Clarke smiled wearily. 

"I will do what I can, Bishop. But I hate to burden him with one moredemand. Since he has bought these two new factories, he is simply workedto death. I get so cross with all the unreasonable demands the employeesmake on him. They are never satisfied. The more he yields, the more theydemand. It's begging letters, petitions, lawsuits, strikes, until he isdriven almost crazy. "

The whirr of an approaching motor caused them both to look up. A grizzledman of fifty got out and, after a decisive order to the chauffeur, turnedto join them. His movements were quick and nervous, and his eyes restlessunder their shaggy gray brows. 

"Where's the boy?" was his first query after the greetings were over. 

"He went to choir practice. I thought surely he would come out with you. Hadn't we better send the machine back for him?"

"We were just speaking of that fine lad of yours, " said the bishop, helping himself to yet another sandwich. "Fine eyes, frank, engagingmanner! I suppose he is too young yet for you to be considering hisfuture calling?"

"Indeed he isn't!" said Mrs. Clarke. "My heart is set on the law. Two ofhis Clarke grandfathers have been on the bench. "

Mr. Clarke smiled somewhat grimly. 

"Mac hasn't evinced any burning ambition in any direction as yet. "

"Mac is only thirteen, " said Mrs. Clarke with dignity; "all of histeachers will tell you that he is wonderfully bright, but that he lacksapplication. I think it is entirely their fault. They don't make thelessons sufficiently interesting; they don't hold his attention. He hasbeen at three private schools, and they were all wretched. You know I amthinking of trying a tutor this year. "

"I want her to send him to the public schools, " Mr. Clarke said with theair of detached paternity peculiar to American fathers. "I went to thepublic schools. They gave me a decent start in life; that's about all youcan expect of a school. "

"True, true, " said the bishop, his elbows on the arms of his chair, andhis fingers tapping each other meditatively. "I am the last person tominimize the value of the public schools, but they were primarilydesigned, Mr. Clarke, neither for your boy, nor mine. Their rules andregulations were designed expressly for the children of the poor. I wasspeaking on this subject only yesterday to Mrs. Conningsby Lee. She'svery indignant because her child was forced to submit to vaccination atthe hands of some unknown young physician appointed by the city. 

"I should feel like killing any one who vaccinated Mac without myconsent!" exclaimed Mrs. Clarke, "but I needn't worry. He wouldn't allowit. Do you know we have never been able to persuade that child to bevaccinated?"

"And you don't propose for the State to do what you can't do, do you?"Mr. Clarke said, pinching her cheek. 

"What Mrs. Clarke says is not without weight, " said the bishop, gallantlycoming to her rescue. "There are few things upon which I wax moreindignant than the increasing interference of the State with the home. This hysterical agitation against child labor, for instance; whilewarranted in exceptional cases, it is in the main destructive of theformation of the habit of industry which cannot be acquired too young. When the State presumes to teach a mother how to feed her child, when andwhere to educate it, when and where to send it to work, the State goestoo far. There is nothing more dangerous to the family than the presentpaternalistic and pauperizing trend of legislation. "

"I wish you would preach that to the factory inspectors, " said Mr. Clarke, with a wry smile. "Between the poor mothers who are constantlytrying to get the children into the factory, and the inspectors who aretrying to keep them out, I have my hands full. "

"A mother's love, " said the bishop, who evidently had different rulesfor mothers and fathers, "a mother's intuition is the most unerringguide for the conduct of her child; and the home, however humble, is itssafest refuge. "

Mrs. Clarke glanced anxiously down the poplar-bordered driveway. Hermother's intuition suggested that as it was now five-thirty, Mac musthave been engaged in some more diverting pastime than praising the Lordwith psalms and thanksgiving. 

"Your theory then, Bishop, " said Mr. Clarke, who was evincing an unusualinterest in the subject, "carried to its legitimate conclusion, would doaway with all state interference? No compulsory education or child-laborlaws, or houses of correction?"

"Oh, I don't think the bishop means that at all!" said Mrs. Clarke. "Buthe is perfectly right about a mother knowing what is best for her child. Take Mac, for instance. Nobody has ever understood him, but me. Whatother people call wilfulness is really sensitiveness. He can't bear to becriticized, he--"

The sudden appearance of a limping object skirting the bushes caused herto break off abruptly. 

"Who on earth is that over there beyond the fountain?" she asked. "Why, upon my word, it's Mac!--Mac!" she called anxiously. "Come here!"

The boy shamefacedly retraced his steps and presented himself on thepiazza. His shoes and stockings were covered with mud; the frills on hisshirt were torn and dirty; one eye was closed. 

"Why, my darling child!" cried his mother, her listless, detached airgiving place to one of acute concern, "you've been in an accident!"

She had flown to him and enveloped him, mud and all, in her gauzyembrace--an embrace from which Mac struggled to escape. 

"I'm all right, " he insisted impatiently. "Those kids back of thecathedral got to bothering us, and we--"

"You mean those rowdies in the alley of whom Mason is alwayscomplaining?" demanded the bishop, sternly. 

"Yes, sir. They were throwing rocks and stepping on the new walk--"

"And you were helping the janitor keep them out?" broke in Mrs. Clarke. "Isn't it an outrage, Bishop, that these children can't go to their choirpractice without being attacked by those dreadful ruffians?"

"You are quite sure you boys weren't to blame?" asked Mr. Clarke. 

"Now, Father!" protested his wife, "how can you? When Mac has just toldus he was helping the janitor?"

"It is no new thing, Mr. Clarke, " said the bishop, solemnly shaking hishead. "We have had to contend with that disreputable element back of usfor years. On two occasions I have had to complain to the cityauthorities. A very bad neighborhood, I am told, very bad indeed. "

"But, Mac dearest, " pursued his mother anxiously as she tried to brushthe dried mud out of his hair. "Were you the only boy who stayed to helpMason keep them out?"

Mac jerked his head away irritably. 

"Oh! It wasn't that way, Mother. You see--"

"That's Mac all over, " cried Mrs. Clarke. "He wouldn't claim any creditfor the world. But look at the poor child's hands! Look at his eye! Wemust take some action at once. Can't we swear out a warrant or somethingagainst those hoodlums, and have them locked up?"

"But, Elise, " suggested Mr. Clarke, quizzically, "haven't you and thebishop just been arguing that the State ought not to interfere with achild? That the family ties, the mother's guidance--"

"My dear Mr. Clarke, " interrupted the bishop, "this, I assure you, is anexceptional case. These young desperados are destroying property; theyare lawbreakers, many of them doubtless, incipient criminals. Mrs. Clarkeis quite right; some action must be taken, has probably been takenalready. The janitor had instructions to swear out a warrant against thenext offender who in any way defaced the property belonging to thecathedral. "

It was at this critical point that the telephone rang, and a maidappeared to say that Mr. Clarke was wanted. The bishop took advantage ofthe interruption to order his carriage and make his adieus. 

"You may be assured, " he said at parting, "that I shall not allow thismatter to rest until the offenders are brought to justice. Good-by, good-by, my little man. Bear in mind, my dear Elise, that Mukdenmatter. Good-by. "

"And now, you poor darling!" said Mrs. Clarke in a relieved tone, as sheturned her undivided attention on her abused son, "you shall have a nicehot bath and a compress on the poor eye, and whatever you want for yourdinner. You are as white as a sheet, and still trembling! You poor lamb!"

Mr. Clarke met them at the drawing-room door:

"Mac!" he demanded, and his face was stern, "did you have anything to dowith the breaking of the big window at the cathedral?"

"No, sir, " Mac faltered, kicking at the newel post. 

"You didn't even know it was broken?"

"Oh, everybody was throwing rocks, and that old, crazy Mason--"

"But I thought you were helping Mason?"

"I was--that is--those alley micks--"

"That will do!" his father said angrily. "I've just been notified to haveyou at the juvenile court next Friday to answer a charge of destroyingproperty. This is a nice scrape for my son to get into! And you didn'thave the grit to tell the truth. You lied to me! You'll go to bed, sir, without your dinner!"

Mrs. Clarke's eyes were round with indignation, and she was on the pointof bursting into passionate protest when a warning glance from herhusband silenced her. With a sense of outraged maternity she flung aprotective arm about her son and swept him up the stairs. 

"Don't make a scene, Mac darling!" she whispered. "Mother knows youdidn't do it. You go up to bed like a little gentleman, and I'll slip atray up to you and come up myself the minute dinner is over. "

That night when the moon discovered Nance Molloy in Calvary Alley, italso peeped through the window at Mac Clarke out at Hillcrest. Bathed, combed, and comforted, he lay in a silk-draped bed while his mother satbeside him fanning him. It would be pleasant to record that the prodigalhad confessed his sins and been forgiven. It would even be some comfortto state that his guilty conscience was keeping him awake. Neither ofthese facts, however, was true. Mac, lying on his back, watching thesquare patch of moonlight on the floor, was planning darkest deeds ofvengeance on a certain dirty, tow-headed, bare-legged little girl, whohad twice got the better of him in the conflict of the day. 

CHAPTER IV

JUVENILE COURT

The goddess of justice is popularly supposed to bandage her eyes in orderto maintain an impartial attitude, but it is quite possible that she doesit to keep from seeing the dreary court-rooms which are supposed to beher abiding place. 

On the hot Friday morning following the fight, the big anteroom to thejuvenile court, which was formerly used for the police court, was just asdirty and the air just as stale as in mid-winter, when the windows weredown and the furnace going. 

Scrub women came at dawn, to be sure, and smeared its floors with sourmops, and occasionally a janitor brushed the cobwebs off the ceiling, butthe grime was more than surface deep, and every nook and cranny held thefoul odor of the unwashed, unkempt current of humanity that for so manyyears had flowed through it. Ghosts of dead and gone criminals seemed tohover over the place, drawn back through curiosity, to relive their ownsorry experiences in the cases of the young offenders waiting before thebar of justice. 

On the bench at the rear of the room the delegation from Calvary Alleyhad been waiting for over an hour. Mrs. Snawdor, despite her forebodings, had achieved a costume worthy of the occasion, but Uncle Jed and Dan hadmade no pretense at a toilet. As for Nance, she had washed her face asfar east and west as her ears and as far south as her chin; but theregions beyond were unreclaimed. The shoe-string on her hair had beenreplaced by a magenta ribbon, but the thick braids had not beendisturbed. Now that she had got over her fright, she was rather enjoyingthe novelty and excitement of the affair. She had broken the law andenjoyed breaking it, and the cop had pinched her. It was a game betweenher and the cop, and the cop had won. She saw no reason whatever forUncle Jed and Dan to look so solemn. 

By and by a woman in spectacles took her into a small room across thehall, and told her to sit on the other side of the table and not toshuffle her feet. Nance explained about the mosquito bites, but the ladydid not listen. 

"What day is this?" asked the spectacled one, preparing to chronicle theanswers in a big book. 

"Friday, " said Nance, surprised that she could furnish information to sowise a person. 

"What day of the month?"

"Day before rent day. "

The corner of the lady's mouth twitched, and Nance glanced at hersuspiciously. 

"Can you repeat these numbers after me? Four, seven, nine, three, ten, six, fourteen. "

Nance was convinced now that the lady was crazy, but she rattled themoff glibly. 

"Very good! Now if the little hand of your clock was at twelve, and thebig hand at three, what time would it be?"

Nance pondered the matter deeply. 

"Five after twelve!" she answered triumphantly. 

"No; try again. "

Nance was eager to oblige, but she had the courage of her convictions andheld her point. 

"Wouldn't it be a quarter past?" suggested the examiner. 

"No, ma'am, it wouldn't. Our clock runs ten minutes slow. "

The grave face behind the spectacles broke into a smile; then businesswas resumed. 

"Shut your eyes and name as many objects as you can without stopping, like this: trees, flowers, birds. Go ahead. "

"Trees, flowers, birds, cats, dogs, fight, barrel, slop, mud, ashes. "

"Go on, quicker--keep it up. Nuts, raisins, cake--"

"Cake, stove, smoke, tub, wash-board, scrub, rag, tub, stove, ashes. "

"Keep it up!"

"I dunno no more. "

"We can't get beyond ashes, eh?" said the lady. "Now suppose you tell mewhat the following words mean. Charity?"

"Is it a organization?" asked Nance doubtfully. 

"Justice?"

"I dunno that one. "

"Do you know what God is?"

Nance felt that she was doing badly. If her freedom depended on herpassing this test, she knew the prison bars must be already closing onher. She no more knew what God is than you or I know, but the spectacledlady must be answered at any cost. 

"God, " she said laboriously, "God is what made us, and a cuss word. "

Many more questions followed before she was sent back to her placebetween Uncle Jed and Mrs. Snawdor, and Dan was led away in turn toreceive his test. 

Meanwhile Uncle Jed was getting restless. Again and again he consultedhis large nickel-plated watch. 

"I ought to be getting to bed, " he complained. "I won't get more 'n fourhours' sleep as it is. "

"Here comes the Clarke boy!" exclaimed Nance, and all eyes were turned inthe direction of the door. 

The group that presented itself at the entrance was in sharp contrast toits surroundings. Mac Clarke, arrayed in immaculate white, was flanked onone side by his distinguished-looking father and on the other by hisfather's distinguished-looking lawyer. The only evidence that thearistocratic youth had ever come into contact with the riffraff ofCalvary Alley was the small patch of court-plaster above his right eye. 

"Tell the judge we are here, " said Mr. Clarke briskly to his lawyer. "Askhim to get through with us as soon as possible. I have an appointment attwelve-thirty. "

The lawyer made his way up the aisle and disappeared through thedoor which all the morning had been swallowing one small offenderafter another. 

Almost immediately a loud voice called from the platform:

"Case of Mac Clarke! Nance Molloy! Dan Lewis!" And Nance with a suddenleap of her heart, knew that her time had come. 

In the inner room, where the juvenile cases had a private hearing, thejudge sat at a big desk, scanning several pages of type-written paper. Hewas a young judge with a keen, though somewhat weary, face and eyes, fullof compassionate knowledge. But Nance did not see the judge; her gaze wasriveted upon her two arch enemies: Mason, with his flat nose andpugnacious jaw, and "Old Cock-eye, " the policeman who looked strangelyunfamiliar with his helmet off. 

"Well, Mr. Mason, " said the judge when the three small offenders hadbeen ranged in front of the desk, with the witnesses grouped behind them, "I'll ask you to tell me just what took place last Saturday afternoon atthe cathedral. "

Mason cleared his throat and, with evident satisfaction, proceeded to setforth his version of the story:

"I was sweeping out the vestibule, your Honor, when I heard a lot ofyelling and knew that a fight was on. It's that away every Saturdayafternoon that I ain't on the spot to stop it. I run down through thecathedral and out to the back gate. The alley was swarming with a mob offighting, yelling children. Then I see these two boys a-fighting eachother up at the end of the alley, and before I can get to 'em, this herelittle girl flings herself between 'em, and the big boy picks up a rockand heaves it straight th'u the cathedral window. "

"Well, Mac, " said the judge, turning to the trim, white-clad figureconfronting him--a figure strangely different from the type thatusually stood there. "You have heard what the janitor charges you with. Are you guilty?"

"Yes, sir, " said Mac. 

"The breaking of the window was an accident?"

Mac glanced quickly at his father's lawyer, then back at the judge. 

"Yes, sir. "

"But you were fighting in the alley?"

"I was keeping the alley boys out of the cathedral yard. "

"That's a lie!" came in shrill, indignant tones from the little girl athis elbow. 

"There seems to be some difference of opinion here, " said the judge, putting his hand over his mouth to repress a smile at the vehemence ofthe accusation. "Suppose we let this young lady give her version of it. "

Nance jerking her arm free from Mrs. Snawdor's restraining hand, plungedbreathlessly into her story. 

"He was settin' on the fence, along with a parcel of other guys, a-makin'faces an' callin' names long afore we even took no notice of 'em. "

"Both sides is to blame, your Honor, " interposed Mason, "there ain't aday when the choir rehearses that I don't have to go out and stop 'emfighting. "

"Well, in this case who started the trouble?" asked the judge. 

Mrs. Snawdor clutched at Nance, but it was too late. 

"I did, " she announced. 

The judge looked puzzled. 

"Why, I thought you said the choir boys began it by sitting on the fenceand making faces and calling names. "

"Shucks, " said Nance, contemptuously, "we kin beat 'em makin' faces an'callin' names. "

"Well, how did you start the fight?"

"That there big boy dared me to step in the concrete. Didn't you now?"

Mac stood looking straight ahead of him and refused to acknowledgeher presence. 

"It strikes me, " said the judge, "that you choir boys could be betteremployed than in teasing and provoking the children in the alley. What doyou think, Mac?"

Mac had been provided with no answer to this question, so heoffered none. 

"Unfortunately, " the judge continued, "it is the fathers of boys like youwho have to take the punishment. Your father will have to pay for thewindow. But I want to appeal to your common sense and your sense ofjustice. Look at me, Mac. You have had advantages and opportunitiesbeyond most boys. You are older than these children. Don't you think, instead of using your influence to stir up trouble and put us to thisannoyance and expense, it would be much better for you to keep on yourside of the fence and leave these people back of the cathedral alone?"

"Yes, sir, " said Mac, perfunctorily. 

"And you promise me to do this?"

"Yes, sir. "

"We will give you a chance to make your promise good. But remember yourname is on our record; if there is any more trouble whatever, you willhear from us. Mr. Clarke, I look to you to see that your son behaveshimself. You may step aside please. And now, boy, what is your name?"

"Dan Lewis. "

"Oh, yes. I think we have met before. What have you to say for yourself?"

The shoeless, capless, unwashed boy, with his ragged trousers hitched tohis shoulders by one suspender, frowned up at the judge through a fringeof tumbled hair. 

"Nothin', " he said doggedly. 

"Where do you live?"

"I live at home when me maw's there. "

"Where is she now?"

This question caused considerable nudging and side-glancing on the partof Mrs. Snawdor. 

"She's went to the country, " said Dan. 

"Is your father living?"

"I dunno. "

"Did you go to school last year?"

"No. "

"Why not?"

"Didn't have no shoes. "

"Does your mother work?"

This question brought more nudges and glances from Mrs. Snawdor, none ofwhich were lost on the boy. 

"Me mother don't have to work, " he said defiantly. "She's a lady. "

The judge cleared his throat and called Mrs. Snawdor sharply to order. 

"Well, Dan, " he said, "I am sorry to see you back here again. What wereyou up for before?"

"Chuckin' dice. "

"And didn't I tell you that it would go hard with you if you came back?"

"Yes, sir, but I never chucked no more dice. "

"And I suppose in spite of the way your mouth is bruised, you'll tell meyou weren't mixed up in this fight?"

The boy stood staring miserably at the wall with eyes in which fear andhurt pride struggled for mastery. 

"Yer Honor!" the policeman broke in. "It's three times lately I've foundhim sleepin' in doorways after midnight. Him and the gang is a bad lot, yer Honor, a scrappin' an' hoppin' freights an' swipin' junk, an' onething an' another. "

"I never swiped no junk, " Dan said hopelessly, "I never swiped nothinkin my life. "

"Is there no definite charge against this boy?"

"Well, sir, " said Mason, "he is always a-climbin' up the steeple of thecathedral. "

Dan, sullen, frightened, and utterly unable to defend himself, lookedfrom the officer to the janitor with the wide, distrustful eyes of acornered coyote. 

Suddenly a voice spoke out in his behalf, a shrill, protesting, passionate voice. 

"He ain't no worser nor nobody else! Ast Mammy, ast Uncle Jed! He's gotto sleep somewheres when his maw fergits to come home! Ever'body goes an'picks on Danny 'cause he ain't got nobody to take up fer him. 'T ain'tfair!" Nance ended her tirade in a burst of tears. 

"There, there, " said the judge, "it's going to be fair this time. Youstop crying now and tell me your name?"

"Nance Molloy, " she gulped, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. 

"How old are you?"

"'Leven, goin' on twelve. "

"Well, take that gum out of your mouth and stop crying. "

He consulted his papers and then looked at her over his glasses. 

"Nancy, " he said, "are you in the habit of slipping into the cathedralwhen the janitor is not around?"

"Yes, sir. "

"What for?"

"Lookin' at the pretties, an' seein' if there's any nickels underthe seats. "

"You want to buy candy, I suppose?"

"No, sir, a bureau. "

Even the tired-looking probation officer looked up and smiled. 

"What does a little girl like you want with a bureau?" asked the judge. 

"So's I won't have to keep me duds under the bed. "

"That's a commendable ambition. But what about these other charges;truancy from school, fighting with the boys, throwing mud, and so on?"

"I never th'ow mud, 'ceptin' when I'm th'owin' back, " explained Nance. 

"A nice distinction, " said the judge. "Is this child's mother present?"

Mrs. Snawdor, like a current that has been restrained too long, surgedeagerly forward, and overflowed her conversational banks completely. 

"Well, I ain't exactly her mother, but I'm just the same as her mother. You ast anybody in Calvary Alley. Ast Mr. Burks here, ast Mrs. Smeltswhat I been to her ever since she was a helpless infant baby. When BudMolloy lay dyin' he says to the brakeman, 'You tell my wife to be goodto Nance, '"

"So she's your stepchild?"

"Yes, sir, an' Bud Molloy was as clever a man as ever trod shoe-leather. So was Mr. Yager. Nobody can't say I ever had no trouble with my twofirst. They wasn't what you might call as smart a man as Snawdor, butthey wasn't no fool. "

It was a peculiarity of Mrs. Snawdor's that she always spoke of herprevious husbands as one, notwithstanding the fact that the virtueswhich she attributed to them could easily have been distributed amonghalf a dozen. 

"Well, well, " said the judge impatiently, "what have you to say about thecharacter of this little girl?"

Mrs. Snawdor shifted her last husband's hat from the right side of herhead to the left, and began confidentially:

"Well I'll tell you, Jedge, Nance ain't so bad as whut they make her out. She's got her faults. I ain't claimin' she ain't. But she ain't got adrop of meanness in her, an' that's more than I can say for some grownfolks present. " Mrs. Snawdor favored Mr. Mason with such a sudden andblighting glance that the janitor quailed visibly. 

"Do you have trouble controlling her?" asked the judge. 

"Nothin' to speak of. She's a awful good worker, Nance is, when you gither down to it. But her trouble is runnin'. Let anything happen in thealley, an' she's up an' out in the thick of it. I'm jes' as apt to comehome an' find her playin' ball with the baby in her arms, as not. But Idon't have to dress her down near as often as I used to. "

"Then you wouldn't say she was a bad child?"

Mrs. Snawdor's emphatic negative was arrested in the utterance by Mr. Mason's accusing eye. 

"Well, I never seen no child that was a angel, " she compromised. 

"Does Nancy go to school?" the judge asked. 

"Well, I was threatenin' her the other day, if she didn't behave herself, I was goin' to start her in again. "

"I ain't been sence Christmas, " volunteered Nance, still sniffling. 

"You shet yer mouth, " requested Mrs. Snawdor with great dignity. 

"Why hasn't she been to school since Christmas?" the judgeproceeded sternly. 

"Well, to tell you the truth, it was on account of Mr. Snawdor. He gotmad 'bout the vaccination. He don't believe in it. Says it gives you therheumatism. He's got a iron ring on ever' one of the childern. Show yoursto the jedge, Nance! He says ef they has to vaccinate 'em to educate 'em, they ain't goin' to de neither one. "

"But don't you know that we have compulsory education in this State?Hasn't the truant officer been to see you?"

Mrs. Snawdor looked self-conscious and cast down her eyes. 

"Well, not as many times as Snawdor says he has. Snawdor's thatjealous he don't want me to have no gentlemen visitors. When I see thetruant officer or the clock-man comin', I just keep out of sight toavoid trouble. "

The judge's eyes twinkled, then grew stern. "In the meanwhile, " he said, "Nancy is growing up in ignorance. What sort of a woman are you to let achild go as ragged and dirty as this one and to refuse her an education?"

"Well, schools ain't what they wuz when me an' you wuz young, " Mrs. Snawdor said argumentatively. "They no more'n git a child there than theywant to cut out their palets or put spectacles on her. But honest, Judge, the truth of it is I can't spare Nance to go to school. I got a jobscrubbin' four nights in the week at the post-office, an' I got to havesome help in the daytime. I leave it to you if I ain't. "

"That's neither here nor there, " said the judge. "It is your business tohave her at school every morning and to see that she submits to theregulations. You are an able-bodied woman and have an able-bodiedhusband. Why don't you move into a decent house in a decentneighborhood?"

"There ain't nothin' the matter with our neighborhood. If you'd jes' git'em to fix the house up some. The roof leaks something scandalous. "

"Who is your landlord?"

"Well, they tell me _he_ is, " said Mrs. Snawdor, pointing a maliciousfinger at Mr. Clarke. This _coup d'etat_ caused considerable diversion, and the judge had to call the court sharply to order. 

"Is that your husband in the rear of the room?" he asked Mrs. Snawdor. 

"Law, no; that's Mr. Burks, our boarder. I begged Snawdor to come, buthe's bashful. "

"Well, Mr. Burks, will you step forward and tell us what you know of thislittle girl?"

Uncle Jed cleared his throat, made a pass at the place where his fronthair used to be, and came forward. 

"Have you known this child long?" asked the judge. 

"Eleven years, going on twelve, " said Uncle Jed, with a twinkle in hissmall eyes, "me an' her grandpa fought side by side in the battle ofChickasaw Bluffs. "

"So she comes of fighting stock, " said the judge. "Do you consider herincorrigible?"

"Sir?"

"Do you think her stepmother is able to control her?"

Uncle Jed looked a trifle embarrassed. 

"Well, Mrs. Snawdor ain't whut you might say regular in her method. Sometimes she's kinder rough on Nance, and then again she's a heap sighttoo easy. "

"That's a God's truth!" Mrs. Snawdor agreed fervently from the rear. 

"Then you do not consider it altogether the child's fault?"

"No, sir, I can't say as I do. She jes' gits the signals mixedsometimes, that's all. "

The judge smiled. 

"So you think if she understood the signals, she'd follow them?"

Uncle Jed's face became very earnest as he laid his hand on Nance's head. 

"I believe if this here little lass was to once git it into her head thata thing was right, she'd do it if it landed her where it landed her paw, at the foot of a forty-foot embankment with a engine a-top of her. "

"That's a pretty good testimony to her character, " said the judge. "It'sour business, then, to see that she gets more definite instructions as tothe traffic laws of life. Nance, you and Dan step up here again. "

The children stood before him, breathing hard, looking him straightin the face. 

"You have both been breaking the law. It's a serious thing to be up incourt. It is usually the first step on the down grade. But I don'tbelieve either of you have been wholly to blame. I am going to give youone more chance and put you both on probation to Mrs. Purdy, to whom youare to report once a week. Is Mrs. Purdy in the room?"

An elderly little lady slipped forward and stood behind them with ahand on the shoulder of each. Nance did not dare look around, but therewas something comforting and reassuring in that fat hand that lay onher shoulder. 

"One more complaint against either of you, " cautioned the judgeimpressively, "and it will be the house of reform. If your families can'tmake you behave, the State can. But we don't want to leave it to thefamily or the State; we want to leave it to you. I believe you can bothmake good, but you'll have to fight for it. "

Nance's irregular features broke into a smile. It was a quick, wide smileand very intimate. 

"Fight?" she repeated, with a quizzical look at the judge. "I thoughtthat was what we was pinched fer. "

CHAPTER V

ON PROBATION

For a brief period Nance Molloy walked the paths of righteousness. Thefear of being "took up" proved a salutary influence, but permanentconverts are seldom made through fear of punishment alone. She was tryingby imitation and suggestion to grope her way upward, but the light sheclimbed by was a borrowed light which swung far above her head and threwstrange, misleading shadows across her path. The law that allowed a manto sell her fire-crackers and then punished her for firing them off, thatallowed any passer-by to kick her stone off the hop-scotch square andpunished her for hurling; the stone after him, was a baffling anddifficult thing to understand. 

At school it was no better. The truant officer said she must go everyday, yet when she got there, there was no room for her. She had to sit inthe seat with two other little girls who bitterly resented the intrusion. 

"You oughtn't to be in this grade anyhow!" declared one of them. "A girlought to be in the primer that turns her letters the wrong way. "

"Well, my letters spell the words right, " said Nance hotly, "an' that'smore'n yours do, Pie-Face!"

Whereupon the girl stuck out her tongue, and Nance promptly shoved heroff the end of the seat, with the result that her presence was requestedin the office at the first recess. 

"If you would learn to make your letters right, the girls would not teaseyou, " said the principal, kindly. "Why do you persist in turning them thewrong way?"

Now Nance had learned to write by copying the inscriptions from thereverse side of the cathedral windows, and she still believed thecathedral was right. But she liked the principal and she wanted very muchto get a good report, so she gave in. 

"All right, " she said good-naturedly, "I'll do 'em your way. An' ef youketch me fightin' agin, I hope you'll lick hell outen me!"

The principal, while decrying its forcible expression, applauded her goodintention, and from that time on took special interest in her. 

Nance's greatest drawback these days was Mrs. Snawdor. That worthy lady, having her chief domestic prop removed and finding the household dutiesresting too heavily upon her own shoulders, conceived an overwhelminghatred for the school, the unknown school-teacher, and the truantofficer, for whom she had hitherto harbored a slightly romantic interest. 

"I ain't got a mite of use for the whole lay-out, " she announced in asweeping condemnation one morning when Nance was reminding her for thefourth time that she had to have a spelling book. "They' re foreverwantin' somethin'. It ain't no use beginnin' to humor 'em. Wasn't theyafter me to put specs on Fidy last week? I know their tricks, standin' inwith eye-doctors an' dentists! An' here I been fer goin' on ten years, tryin' to save up to have my own eye-teeth drawed an' decent ones put in. Snawdor promised when we got married that would be his first present tome. Well, if I ever get 'em, they _will_ be his first present. "

"Teacher says you oughtn't to leave the milk settin' uncovered like that;it gits germans in it, " said Nance. 

"I'd like to know whose milk-can this is?" demanded Mrs. Snawdorindignantly. "You tell her when she pays fer my milk, it 'll be timeenough fer her to tell me what to do with it. You needn't be scurryin' soto git off. I'm fixin' to go to market. You'll have to stay an' 'tend tothe children 'til I git back. "

"But I'm tryin' to git a good report, " urged Nance. "I don't wantto be late. "

"I'll send a excuse by Fidy, an' say you 're sick in bed. Then you kinstay home all day an' git the house cleaned up. "

"Naw, I won't, " said Nance rebelliously, "I ain't goin' to miss ag'in. "

"You're goin' to shut up this minute, you sass-box, or I'll take you backto that there juvenile court. Git me a piece o' paper an' a pencil. "

With great effort she wrote her note while Nance stood sullenly by, looking over her shoulder. 

"You spelled teacher's name with a little letter, " Nance muttered. 

"I done it a-purpose, " said Mrs. Snawdor vindictively, "I ain't goin' tospell her with a capital; she ain't worth it. "

Nance would undoubtedly have put up a more spirited fight for her rights, had she not been anxious to preserve peace until the afternoon. It wasthe day appointed by the court for her and Dan Lewis to make their firstreport to Mrs. Purdy, whose name and address had been given them on acard. She had washed her one gingham apron for the occasion, and hadsewed up the biggest rent in her stockings. The going forth alone withDan on an errand of any nature was an occasion of importance. It somehowjustified those coupled initials, enclosed in a gigantic heart, that shehad surreptitiously drawn on the fence. 

After her first disappointment in being kept at home, she set about hertask of cleaning the Snawdor flat with the ardor of a young Herculesattacking the Augean stables. First she established the twins in the hallwith a string and a bent pin and the beguiling belief that if they fishedlong enough over the banister they would catch something. Next sheanchored the screaming baby to a bedpost and reduced him to subjection bydipping his fingers in sorghum, then giving him a feather. The absorbingoccupation of plucking the feather from one sticky hand to the otherrendered him passive for an hour. 

These preliminaries being arranged, Nance turned her attention to thework in hand. Her method consisted in starting at the kitchen, which wasin front, and driving the debris back, through the dark, little, middleroom, until she landed it all in a formidable mass in Mrs. Snawdor'sbedroom at the rear. This plan, pursued day after day, with the generalunderstanding that Mrs. Snawdor was going to take a day off soon andclean up, had resulted in a condition of indescribable chaos. As Mr. Snawdor and the three younger children slept in the rear room at night, and Mrs. Snawdor slept in it the better part of the day, the hour forcleaning seldom arrived. 

To-day as Nance stood in the doorway of this stronghold of dirt anddisorder, she paused, broom in hand. The floor, as usual, was litteredwith papers and strings, the beds were unmade, the wash-stand and dresserwere piled high with a miscellaneous collection, and the drawers of eachstood open, disgorging their contents. On the walls hung three enlargedcrayons of bridal couples, in which the grooms were different, but thebride the same. On the dusty window sill were bottles and empty spools, broken glass chimneys, and the clock that ran ten minutes slow. Thedebris not only filled the room, but spilled out into the fire-escape anddown the rickety iron ladders and flowed about the garbage barrels in thepassage below. 

It was not this too familiar scene, however, that made Nance pause withher hand on the door-knob and gaze open-mouthed into the room. It was thesight of Mr. Snawdor sitting on the side of the bed with his back towardher, wiping his little red-rimmed eyes on a clean pocket handkerchief, and patting his trembling mouth with the hand that was not under thequilt. Heretofore Nance had regarded Mr. Snawdor as just one of the manydiscomforts with which the family had to put up. His whining protestsagainst their way of living had come to be as much a matter of course asthe creaking door or the smoking chimney. Nobody ever thought oflistening to what he was saying, and everybody pushed and ordered himabout, including Nance, who enjoyed using Mrs. Snawdor's highhandedmethod with him, when that lady was not present. 

But when she saw him sitting there with his back to her, crying, she waspuzzled and disturbed. As she watched, she saw him fumble for somethingunder the quilt, then lift a shining pistol, and place the muzzle to histhin, bald temple. With a cry of terror, she dashed forward and knockedthe weapon from his hand. 

"You put that down!" she cried, much as she would have commanded WilliamJ. To leave the butcher knife alone. "Do you want to kill yerself?"

Mr. Snawdor started violently, then collapsing beside the bed, confessedthat he did. 

"What fer?" asked Nance, terror giving way to sheer amazement. 

"I want to quit!" cried Mr. Snawdor, hysterically. "I can't stand it anylonger. I'm a plumb failure and I ain't goin' to ever be anything else. If your maw had taken care of what I had, we wouldn't have been where weare at. Look at the way we live! Like pigs in a pen! We're nothing butpore white trash; that's what we are!"

Nance stood beside him with her hand on his shoulder. Poor white trash!That was what the Clarke boy had called her. And now Mr. Snawdor, thenominal head of the family, was acknowledging it to be true. She lookedabout her in new and quick concern. 

"I'm going to clean up in here, too, " she said. "I don't keer whut mammysays. It'll look better by night; you see if it don't. "

"It ain't only that--" said Mr. Snawdor; then he pulled himself up andlooked at her appealingly. "You won't say nuthin' about this mornin', will you, Nance?"

"Not if you gimme the pistol, " said Nance. 

When he was gone, she picked up the shining weapon and gingerly droppedit out on the adjoining roof. Then her knees felt suddenly wobbly, andshe sat down. What if she had been a minute later and Mr. Snawdor hadpulled the trigger? She shivered as her quick imagination pictured thescene. If Mr. Snawdor felt like that about it, there was but one thing todo; to get things cleaned up and try to keep them so. 

Feeling very important and responsible, she swept and straightened anddusted, while her mind worked even faster than her nimble hands. Standards are formed by comparisons, and so far Nance's opportunity forinstituting comparisons had been decidedly limited. 

"We ain't pore white, no such a thing!" she kept saying to herself. "Ourhouse ain't no worser nor nobody else's. Mis' Smelts is just the same, an' if Levinski's is cleaner, it smells a heap worse. "

Dinner was over before Mrs. Snawdor returned. She came into the kitchengreatly ruffled as to hair and temper from having been caught by thehook left hanging over the banisters by William J. 

"Gimme the rocker!" she demanded. "My feet hurt so bad I'd just like tounscrew 'em an' fling 'em in the dump heap. "

"Where you been at?" asked Uncle Jed, who was cutting himself a slice ofbread from the loaf. 

"I been down helpin' the new tenant move in on the first floor. "

"Any childern?" asked Nance and Lobelia in one breath. 

"No; just a foreign-lookin' old gentleman, puttin' on as much airs as ifhe was movin' into the Walderastoria. Nobody knows his name or where hecomes from. Ike Lavinski says he plays the fiddle at the theayter. Talkabout your helpless people! I had to take a hand in gettin' his thingsunloaded. He liked to never got done thankin' me. "

Mr. Snawdor, who had been sitting in dejected silence before hisuntouched food, pushed his plate back and sighed deeply. 

"Now, fer heaven sake, Snawdor, " began his wife in tones of exasperation, "can't I do a kind act to a neighbor without a-rufflin' yer feathers thewrong way?"

"I cleaned up yer room while you was gone, " said Nance, eager to divertthe conversation from Mr. Snawdor. "Uncle Jed an' me carried the trashdown an' it filled the ash barrel clean up to the top. "

"Well, I hope an' pray you didn't throw away my insurance book. I wasaimin' to clean up, myself, to-morrow. What on earth's the matter withRosy Velt?"

Rosy, who had been banished to the kitchen for misbehavior, had beenconducting a series of delicate experiments, with disastrous results. Shehad been warned since infancy never to put a button up her nose, butProvidence having suddenly placed one in her way, and at the same timeengaged her mother's attention elsewhere, the opportunity was toopropitious to be lost. 

Nance took advantage of her stepmother's sudden departure to cheer upMr. Snawdor. 

"We're gittin' things cleaned up, " she said, "I can't work no more to-daythough, 'cause I got to report to the lady. "

"Ain't you goin' to slick yerself up a bit?" asked Uncle Jed, making afutile effort to smooth her hair. 

"I have, " said Nance, indignantly, "Can't you see I got on a cleanapron?"

Uncle Jed's glance was not satisfied as it traveled from the dirty dressbelow the apron to the torn stockings and shabby shoes. 

"Why don't you wear the gold locket?" suggested Mrs. Snawdor, who nowreturned with Rosy in one hand and the button in the other. 

The gold locket was the one piece of jewelry in the family and when itwas suspended on a black ribbon around Nance's neck, it filled her with asense of elegance. So pleased was she with its effect that as she wentout that afternoon, she peeped in on the new tenant in the hope that hewould notice it. She found him leaning over a violin case, and herinterest was fired at once. 

"Can you play on the fiddle?" she demanded. 

The small, elderly man in the neat, black suit lifted his head and smiledat her over his glasses. 

"Yes, my little friend, " he said in a low, refined voice, "I will playfor you to dance sometime. You would like that? Yes?"

Nance regarded him gravely. 

"Say, are you a Polock or a Dago?" she asked. 

He gave an amused shrug. 

"I am neither. My name is Mr. Demorest. And you are my littleneighbor, perhaps?"

"Third floor on the right, " said Nance, adding in a business-like tone, "I'll be down to dance to-night. "

She would have liked very much to stay longer, for the old gentleman wasquite unlike any one she had ever talked to before, but the card in herhand named the hour of two, and back of the card was Mrs. Purdy, andback of Mrs. Purdy the juvenile court, the one thing in life so far whoseauthority Nance had seen fit to acknowledge. 

CHAPTER VI

BUTTERNUT LANE

At the corner Dan Lewis stood aside like a deposed chieftain while hiscompanions knelt in an excited ring, engrossed in a game sanctioned bycustom and forbidden by law. Even to Nance's admiring eye he lookeddirtier and more ragged than usual, and his scowl deepened as sheapproached. 

"I ain't goin', " he said. 

"Yes, you are, too. Why not?" said Nance, inconsequently. 

"Aw, it ain't no use. "

"Ain't you been to school?"

"Yep, but I ain't goin' to that lady's house. I ain't fit. "

"You got to go to take me, " said Nance, diplomatically. "I don't knowwhere Butternut Lane's at. "

"You could find it, couldn't you?"

Nance didn't think she could. In fact she developed a sudden dependencewholly out of keeping with her usual self-reliance. 

This seemed to complicate matters for Dan. He stood irresolutely kickinghis bare heels against the curb and then reluctantly agreed to take heras far as Mrs. Purdy's gate, provided nothing more was expected of him. 

Their way led across the city to a suburb, and they were hot and tiredbefore half the distance was covered. But the expedition was fraught withinterest for Nance. After the first few squares of sullen silence, Danseemed to forget that she was merely a girl and treated her with theroyal equality usually reserved for boys. So confidential did they becomethat she ventured to put a question to him that had been puzzling hersince the events of the morning. 

"Say, Dan, when anybody kills hisself, is it murder?"

"It's kinder murder. You wouldn't ketch me doin' it as long as I couldget something to eat. "

"You kin always git a piece of bread, " said Nance. 

"You bet you can't!" said Dan with conviction. "I ain't had nothin' toeat myself since yisterday noon. "

"Yer maw didn't come in last night?"

"I 'spec' she went on a visit somewhere, " said Dan, whose lipstrembled slightly despite the stump of a cigarette that he manfullyheld between them. 

"Couldn't you git in a window?"

"Nope; the shutters was shut. Maybe I don't wisht it was December, an' Iwas fourteen!"

"Sammy Smelts works an' he ain't no older'n me, " said Nance. "You kingit a fake certificate fer a quarter. "

Dan smiled bitterly. 

"Where'm I goin' to git the quarter? They won't let me sell things on thestreet, or shoot craps, or work. Gee, I wisht I was rich as that Clarkeboy. Ike Lavinski says he buys a quarter's worth of candy at a time! He'sin Ike's room at school. "

"He wasn't there yesterday, " said Nance. "Uncle Jed seen him with anotherboy, goin' out the railroad track. "

"I know it. He played hookey. He wrote a excuse an' signed his maw's nameto it. Ike seen him do it. An' when the principal called up his maw thismornin' an' ast her 'bout it, she up an' said she wrote it herself. "

Nance was not sure whether she was called upon to admire the astutenessof Mac or his mother, so she did not commit herself. But she was keenlyinterested. Ever since that day in the juvenile court she had beenhaunted by the memory of a trim, boyish figure arrayed in white, and by apair of large brown eyes which disdainfully refused to glance in herdirection. 

"Say, Dan, " she asked wistfully, "have you got a girl?"

"Naw, " said Dan disdainfully, "what do I keer about girls?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe you had. I bet that there Clarke boy'sgot two or three. "

"Let him have 'em, " said Dan; then, finding the subject distasteful, headded, "what's the matter with hookin' on behind that there wagon?" Andsuiting the action to the word, they both went in hot pursuit. 

After a few jolting squares during which Nance courted death with herflying skirts brushing the revolving wheels, the wagon turned into a sidestreet, and they were obliged to walk again. 

"I wonder if this ain't the place?" she said, as they came in sight of alow, white house half smothered in beech-trees, with a flower garden atone side, at the end of which was a vine-covered summer-house. 

"Here's where I beat it!" said Dan, but before he could make good hisintention, the stout little lady on the porch had spied them and camehurrying down the walk, holding out both hands. 

"Well, if here aren't my probationers!" she cried in a warm, comfortablevoice which seemed to suggest that probationers were what she liked bestin the world. 

"Let me see, dear, your name is Mac?"

"No, ma'am, it's Dan, " said that youth, trying to put out the lightedcigarette stump which he had hastily thrust into his pocket. 

"Ah! to be sure! And yours is--Mary?"

"No, ma'am, it's Nance. "

"Why, of course!" cried the little lady, beaming at them, "I rememberperfectly. "

She was scarcely taller than they were as she walked between them, withan arm about the shoulder of each. She wore a gray dress and a wide whitecollar pinned with a round blue pin that just matched her round blueeyes. On each side of her face was a springy white curl that bobbed upand down as she walked. 

"Now, " she said, with an expectant air, when they reached the house. "Where shall we begin? Something to eat?"

Her question was directed to Dan, and he flushed hotly. 

"No, ma'am, " he said proudly. 

"Yes, ma'am, " said Nance, almost in the same breath. 

"I vote 'Yes, ' too; so the ayes have it, " said Mrs. Purely gaily, leadingthem through a neat hall into a neat kitchen, where they solemnly tooktheir seats. 

"My visitors always help me with the lemonade, " said the purring littlelady, giving Nance the lemons to roll, and Dan the ice to crack. Then asshe fluttered about, she began to ask them vague and seemingly futilequestions about home and school and play. Gradually their answers grewfrom monosyllables into sentences, until, by the time the lemonade wasready to serve, Nance was completely thawed out and Dan was getting softaround the edges. Things were on the way to positive conviviality whenMrs. Purdy suddenly turned to Nance and asked her where she went toSunday school. 

Now Sunday school had no charms for Nance. On the one occasion whencuriosity had induced her to follow the stream of well-dressed childreninto the side door of the cathedral, she had met with disillusion. It wasa place where little girls lifted white petticoats when they sat down andstraightened pink sashes when they got up, and put nickels in a basket. Nance had had no lace petticoat or pink sash or nickel. She showed herdiscomfort by misbehaving. 

"Didn't you ever go back?" asked Mrs. Purdy. 

"Nome. They didn't want me. I was bad, an' the teacher said Sunday schoolwas a place for good little girls. "

"My! my!" said Mrs. Purdy, "this will never do. And how about you, Dan?Do you go?"

"Sometimes I've went, " said Dan. "I like it. "

While this conversation was going on Nance could not keep her eyes fromthe open door. There was more sky and grass out there than she had everseen at one time before. The one green spot with which she was familiarwas the neat plot of lawn on each side of the concrete walk leading intothe cathedral, and that had to be viewed through a chink in the fenceand was associated with the words, "Keep Out. "

When all the lemonade was gone, and only one cookie left for politeness, Mrs. Purdy took them into the sitting-room where a delicate-looking mansat in a wheel-chair, carving something from a piece of wood. Nance'squick eyes took in every detail of the bright, commonplace room; its gay, flowered carpet and chintz curtains, its "fruit pieces" in wide, goldframes, and its crocheted tidies presented a new ideal of elegance. 

There was a music-box on the wall in which small figures moved about to atinkling melody; there were charm strings of bright colored buttons, anda spinning-wheel, and a pair of bellows, all of which Mrs. Purdyexplained at length. 

"Sister, " said the man in the chair, feebly, "perhaps the children wouldlike to see my menagerie. "

"Why, dearie, of course they would, " said Mrs. Purdy, "Shall I wheel youover to the cabinet?"

"I'll shove him, " said Dan, making his first voluntary remark. 

"There now!" said Mrs. Purdy, "see how much stronger he is than I am! Andhe didn't jolt you a bit, did he, dearie?"

If the room itself was interesting, the cabinet was nothing short ofentrancing. It was full of carved animals in all manner of grotesquepositions. And the sick gentleman knew the name of each and kept sayingsuch funny things about them that Nance laughed hilariously, and Danforgot the prints of his muddy feet on the bright carpet, and even gaveup the effort to keep his hand over the ragged knee of his pants. 

"He knows all about live animals, too, " chirped Mrs. Purdy. "You'll haveto come some day and go over to the park with us and see his squirrels. There's one he found with a broken leg, and he mended it as good as new. "

The sun was slipping behind the trees before the children even thought ofgoing home. 

"Next Friday at three!" said Mrs. Purdy, cheerily waving them good-by. "And we are going to see who has the cleanest face and the best report. "

"We sure had a good time, " said Nance, as they hurried away through thedusk. "But I'll git a lickin' all right when I git home. "

"I liked that there animal man, " said Dan slowly, "an' them cookies. "

"Well, whatever made you lie to the lady 'bout bein' hungry?"

"I never lied. She ast me if I wanted her to give me somethin' to eat. Ithought she meant like a beggar. I wasn't goin' to take it that way, butI never minded takin' it like--like--company. "

Nance pondered the matter for a while silently; then she asked suddenly:

"Say, Dan, if folks are borned poor white trash, they don't have to go onbein' it, do they?"

CHAPTER VII

AN EVICTION

The three chief diversions in Calvary Alley, aside from fights, werefunerals, arrests, and evictions. Funerals had the advantage of novelty, for life departed less frequently than it arrived: arrests were in highfavor on account of their dramatic appeal, but the excitement, whileintense, was usually too brief to be satisfying; for sustained interestthe alley on the whole preferred evictions. 

The week after Nance and Dan had reported to Mrs. Purdy, rumor traveledfrom house to house and from room to room that the rent man was puttingthe Lewises out. The piquant element in the situation lay in the absenceof the chief actor. "Mis' Lewis" herself had disappeared, and nobody knewwhere she was or when she would return. 

For many years the little cottage, sandwiched between Mr. Snawdor's "Bungand Fawcett" shop and Slap Jack's saloon had been the scandal and, itmust be confessed the romance of the alley. It stood behind closedshutters, enveloped in mystery, and no visitor ventured beyond itsthreshold. The slender, veiled lady who flitted in and out at queerhours, and whom rumor actually accused of sometimes arriving at thecorner in "a hack, " was, despite ten years' residence, a completestranger to her neighbors. She was quiet and well-behaved; she wore goodclothes and shamefully neglected her child. These were the meager factsupon which gossip built a tower of conjecture. 

As for Dan, he was as familiar an object in the alley as the sparrows inthe gutter or the stray cats about the garbage cans. Ever since he couldpersuade his small legs to go the way he wanted them to, he had pursuedhis own course, asking nothing of anybody, fighting for his meagerrights, and becoming an adept in evading the questions that seemed toconstitute the entire conversation of the adult world. All that he askedof life was the chance to make a living, and this the authorities sternlyforbade until he should reach that advanced age of fourteen which seemedto recede as he approached. Like most of the boys in the gang, he hadbeen in business since he was six; but it was business that changed itsnature frequently and had to be transacted under great difficulty. He hadacquired proficiency as a crap-shooter only to find that the professionwas not regarded as an honorable one; he had invested heavily in pins andpencils and tried to peddle them out on the avenue, only to find himselfsternly taken in hand by a determined lady who talked to him about minorsand street trades. Shoe-shining had been tried; so had selling papers, but each of these required capital, and Dan's appetite was of such ademanding character that the acquisition of capital was well nighimpossible. 

From that first day when the truant officer had driven him into theeducational fold, his problems had increased. It was not that he dislikedschool. On the contrary he was ambitious and made heroic efforts to keepup with the class; but it was up-hill work getting an education withouttext-books. The city, to be sure, furnished these to boys whose mothersapplied for them in person, but Dan's mother never had time to come. Thecause of most of his trouble, however, was clothes; seatless trousers, elbowless coats, brimless hats, constituted a series of dailymortifications which were little short of torture. 

Twice, through no fault of his own, he had stood alone before the bar ofjustice, with no voice lifted in his behalf save the shrill, small voiceof Nance Molloy. Twice he had been acquitted and sent back to the oldhopeless environment, and admonished to try again. How hard he had triedand against what odds, surely only the angel detailed to patrol CalvaryAlley has kept any record. 

If any doubts assailed him concerning the mother who took little heed ofhis existence, he never expressed them. Her name rarely passed his lips, but he watched for her coming as a shipwrecked mariner watches for asail. When a boy ponders and worries over something for which he daresnot ask an explanation, he is apt to become sullen and preoccupied. Onthe day that the long-suffering landlord served notice, Dan told no oneof his mother's absence. Behind closed doors he packed what things hecould, clumsily tying the rest of the household goods in the bedclothes. At noon the new tenant arrived and, in order to get his own things in, obligingly assisted in moving Dan's out. It was then and then only thatthe news had gone abroad. 

For three hours now the worldly possessions of the dubious Mrs. Lewis hadlain exposed on the pavement, and for three hours Dan had sat beside themkeeping guard. From every tenement window inquisitive eyes watched eachstage of the proceeding, and voluble tongues discussed every phase of thesituation. Every one who passed, from Mr. Lavinski, with a pile of pantson his head, to little Rosy Snawdor, stopped to take a look at him and toask questions. 

Dan had reached a point of sullen silence. Sitting on a pile ofbedclothes, with a gilt-framed mirror under one arm and a flowered waterpitcher under the other, he scowled defiance at each newcomer. Againstthe jeers of the boys he could register vows of future vengeance andconsole himself with the promise of bloody retribution; but against theendless queries and insinuations of his adult neighbors, he was utterlydefenseless. 

"Looks like she had ever'thing fer the parlor, an' nothin' fer thekitchen, " observed Mrs. Snawdor from her third-story window to Mrs. Smelts at her window two floors below. 

"I counted five pairs of curlin' irons with my own eyes, " saidMrs. Smelts, "an' as fer bottles! If they took out one, they tookout a hunderd. "

"You don't reckon that there little alcohol stove was all she had to cookon, do you?" called up Mrs. Gorman from the pavement below. 

"Maybe that's what she het her curlin' irons on!" was Mrs. Snawdor'ssuggestion, a remark which provoked more mirth than it deserved. 

Dan gazed straight ahead with no sign that he heard. However strong thetemptation was to dart away into some friendly hiding place, he wasevidently not going to yield to it. The family possessions were injeopardy, and he was not one to shirk responsibilities. 

Advice was as current as criticism. Mrs. Gorman, being a chronicrecipient of civic favors, advocated an appeal to the charityorganization; Mrs. Snawdor, ever at war with foreign interference, strongly opposed the suggestion, while Mrs. Smelts with a covetous eye onthe gilt mirror under Dan's arm, urged a sidewalk sale. As for the boyhimself, not a woman in the alley but was ready to take him in and sharewhatever the family larder provided. 

But to all suggestions Dan doggedly shook his head. He was "thinkin' itout, " he said, and all he wanted was to be let alone. 

"Well, you can't set there all night, " said Mrs. Snawdor, "if yer mawdon't turn up by five o'clock, us neighbors is goin' to take a hand. "

All afternoon Dan sat watching the corner round which his mother mightstill appear. Not a figure had turned into the alley, that he had notseen it, not a clanging car had stopped in the street beyond, that hisquick ear had not noted. 

About the time the small hand of the cathedral clock got around to four, Nance Molloy came skipping home from school. She had been kept in for atoo spirited resentment of an older girl's casual observation that bothof her shoes were for the same foot. To her, as to Dan, these tryingconventions in the matter of foot-gear were intolerable. No combinationseemed to meet the fastidious demands of that exacting sixth grade. 

"Hello, Dan!" she said, coming to a halt at sight of the obstructedpavement. "What's all this for?"

"Put out, " said Dan laconically. 

"Didn't yer maw never come back?"

"Nope. "

Nance climbed up beside him on the bedclothes and took her seat. 

"What you goin' to do?" she asked in a business-like tone. 

"Dunno. " Dan did not turn his head to look at her, but he felt a dumbcomfort in her presence. It was as if her position there beside him onthe pillory made his humiliation less acute. He shifted the waterpitcher, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder:

"They all want to divide the things an' take keer of 'em 'til she comes, "he said, "but I ain't goin' to let 'em. "

"I wouldn't neither, " agreed Nance. "Old man Smelts an' Mr. Gorman'd havewhat they took in hock before mornin'. There's a coal shed over to SlapJack's ain't full. Why can't you put yer things in there for to-night?"

"He wouldn't let me. He's a mean old Dutchman. "

"He ain't, neither! He's the nicest man in the alley, next to Uncle Jedan' that there old man with the fiddle. Mr. Jack an' me's friends. Hegives me pretzels all the time. I'll go ast him. "

A faint hope stirred in Dan as she slid down from her perch and dartedinto the saloon next door. She had wasted no time in conjecture orsympathy; she had plunged at once into action. When she returned, the fatsaloonkeeper lumbered in her wake:

"Dose tings is too many, already, " he protested. "I got no place to putmy coal once de cold vedder comes. "

"It ain't come yet, " said Nance. "Besides his mother'll be hereto-morrow, I 'spect. "

"Mebbe she vill, und mebbe she von't, " said the saloonkeeper astutely. "Idon't want dat I should mess up myself mid dis here piziness. "

"The things ain't goin' to hurt your old coal shed none!" began Nance, firing up; then with a sudden change of tactics, she slipped her handinto Mr. Jack's fat, red one, and lifted a pair of coaxing blue eyes. "Say, go on an' let him, Mr. Jack! I told him you would. I said you wasone of the nicest men in the alley. You ain't goin' to make me out aliar, are you?"

"Vell, I leave him put 'em in for to-night, " said the saloonkeepergrudgingly, his Teuton caution overcome by Celtic wile. 

The conclave of women assembled in the hall of Number One, to carry outMrs. Snawdor's threat of "taking a hand, " were surprised a few minuteslater, to see the objects under discussion being passed over the fence byMr. Jack and Dan under the able generalship of the one feminine member ofthe alley whose counsel had been heeded. 

When the last article had been transferred to the shed, and a veteranpadlock had been induced to return to active service, the windows of thetenement were beginning to glow dully, and the smell of cabbage andonions spoke loudly of supper. 

Nance, notwithstanding the fourth peremptory summons from aloft, to walkherself straight home that very minute, still lingered with Dan. 

"Come on home with me, " she said. "You can sleep in Uncle Jed's bed 'tilfive o'clock. "

"I kin take keer of myself all right, " he said. "It was the things thatpestered me. "

"But where you goin' to git yer supper?"

"I got money, " he answered, making sure that his nickel was still in hispocket. "Besides, my mother might come while I was there. "

"Well, don't you fergit that to-morrow we go to Mis' Purdy's. "

Dan looked at her with heavy eyes. 

"Oh! I ain't got time to fool around with that business. I don't knowwhere I'll be at by to-morrow. "

"You'll be right here, " said Nance firmly, "and I ain't goin' to budge astep without you if I have to wait all afternoon. "

"Well, I ain't comin', " said Dan. 

"I'm goin' to wait, " said Nance, "an' if I git took up fer not reportin', it'll be your fault. "

Dan slouched up to the corner and sat on the curbstone where he couldwatch the street cars. As they stopped at the crossing, he leaned forwardeagerly and scanned the passengers who descended. In and out of theswinging door of the saloon behind him passed men, singly and in groups. There were children, too, with buckets, but they had to go around to theside. He wanted to go in himself and buy a sandwich, but he didn't dare. The very car he was waiting for might come in his absence. 

At nine o'clock he was still waiting when two men came out and pausednear him to light their cigars. They were talking about Skeeter Newson, the notorious pickpocket, who two days before had broken jail and hadnot yet been found. Skeeter's exploits were a favorite topic of theCalvary Micks, and Dan, despite the low state of his mind, pricked hisears to listen. 

"They traced him as far as Chicago, " said one of the men, "but there hegive 'em the slip. "

"Think of the nerve of him taking that Lewis woman with him, " said theother voice. "By the way, I hear she lives around here somewhere. "

"A bad lot, " said the first voice as they moved away. 

Dan sat rigid with his back to the telegraph pole, his feet in thegutter, his mouth fallen open, staring dully ahead of him. Then suddenlyhe reached blindly for a rock, and staggered to his feet, but the figureshad disappeared in the darkness. He sat down again, while his breath camein short, hard gasps. It was a lie! His mother was not bad! He knew shewas good. He wanted to shriek it to the world. But even as hepassionately defended her to himself, fears assailed him. 

Why had they always lived so differently from other people? Why was henever allowed to ask questions or to answer them or to know where hismother went or how they got their living? What were the parcels shealways kept locked up in the trunk in the closet? Events, little heededat the time of occurrence, began to fall into place, making a hideous andconvincing pattern. Dim memories of men stole out of the past and threwdistorted shadows on his troubled brain. There was Bob who had once givenhim a quarter, and Uncle Dick who always came after he was in bed, andNewt--his neck stiffened suddenly. Newt, whom his mother used always tobe talking about, and whose name he had not heard now for so long that hehad almost forgotten it. Skeeter Newson--Newt--"The Lewis Woman. " He sawit all in a blinding flash, and in that awful moment of realization hepassed out of his childhood and entered man's estate. 

Choking back his sobs, he fled from the scene of his disgrace. In onealley and out another he stumbled, looking for a hole in which he couldcrawl and pour out his pent-up grief. But privacy is a luxury reservedfor the rich, and Dan and his kind cannot even claim a place in which tobreak their hearts. 

It was not until he reached the river bank and discovered an overturnedhogshead that he found a refuge. Crawling in, he buried his face in hisarms and wept, not with the tempestuous abandonment of a lonely child, but with the dry, soul-racking sobs of a disillusioned man. His motherhad been the one beautiful thing in his life, and he had worshiped her assome being from another world. Other boys' mothers had coarse, red handsand loud voices; his had soft, white hands and a sweet, gentle voice thatnever scolded. 

Sometimes when she stayed at home, they had no money, and then she wouldlie on the bed and cry, and he would try to comfort her. Those were thetimes when he would stay away from school and go forth to sell things atthe pawn shop. The happiest nights he could remember were the ones whenhe had come home with money in his pocket, to a lighted lamp in thewindow, and a fire on the hearth and his mother's smile of welcome. Butthose times were few and far between; he was much more used to darkenedwindows, a cold hearth, and an almost empty larder. In explanation ofthese things he had accepted unconditionally his mother's statement thatshe was a lady. 

As he fought his battle alone there in the dark, all sorts of wild planscame to him. Across the dark river the shore lights gleamed, and downbelow at the wharf, a steamboat was making ready to depart. He had heardof boys who slipped aboard ships and beat their way to distant cities. Afierce desire seized him to get away, anywhere, just so he would not haveto face the shame and disgrace that had come upon him. There was no oneto care now where he went or what became of him. He would run away and bea tramp where nobody could ask questions. 

With quick decision he started up to put his plan into action when adisturbing thought crossed his mind. Had Nance Molloy meant it when shesaid she wouldn't report to the probation officer if he didn't go withher? Would she stand there in the alley and wait for him all afternoon, just as he had waited so often for some one who did not come? Hisreflections were disturbed by a hooting noise up the bank, followed by ashower of rocks. The next instant a mongrel pup scurried down the leveeand dropped shivering at his feet. 

The yells of the pursuers died away as Dan gathered the whimpering beastinto his arms and examined its injuries. 

"Hold still, old fellow. I ain't goin' to hurt you, " he whispered, tenderly wiping the blood from one dripping paw. "I won't let 'em gityou. I'll take care of you. "

The dog lifted a pair of agonized eyes to Dan's face and lickedhis hands. 

"You lemme tie it up with a piece of my sleeve, an' I'll give yousomethin' to eat, " went on Dan. "Me an' you'll buy a sandich an' I'll eatthe bread an' you can have the meat. Me an you'll be partners. "

Misery had found company, and already life seemed a little less desolate. But the new-comer continued to yelp with pain, and Dan examined the limpleg dubiously. 

"I b'lieve it's broke, " he thought. Then he had an inspiration. 

"I know what I'll do, " he said aloud, "I'll carry you out to the animalman when me an' Nance go to report to-morrow. "

CHAPTER VIII

AMBITION STIRS

After Nance Molloy's first visit to Butternut Lane, life became a seriesof thrilling discoveries. Hitherto she had been treated collectively. Athome she was "one of the Snawdor kids"; to the juvenile world beyond thecorner she was "a Calvary Alley mick"; at school she was "a pupil of thesixth grade. " It remained for little Mrs. Purdy to reveal the fact to herthat she was an individual person. 

Mrs. Purdy had the most beautiful illusions about everything. She seemedto see her fellow-men not as they were, but as God intended them to be. She discovered so many latent virtues and attractions in her newprobationers that they scarcely knew themselves. 

When, for instance, she made the startling observation that Nance hadwonderful hair, and that, if she washed it with an egg and brushed itevery day, it would shine like gold, Nance was interested, butincredulous. Until now hair had meant a useless mass of tangles that atlong intervals was subjected to an agonizing process of rebraiding. Themain thing about hair was that it must never on any account be lefthanging down one's back. Feuds had been started and battles lost byswinging braids. The idea of washing it was an entirely new one to her;but the vision of golden locks spurred her on to try the experiment. Shecarefully followed directions, but the egg had been borrowed from Mrs. Smelts who had borrowed it some days before from Mrs. Lavinski, and theresult was not what Mrs. Purdy predicted. 

"If ever I ketch you up to sech fool tricks again, " scolded Mrs. Snawdor, who had been called to the rescue, "I'll skin yer hide off! You've noneed to take yer hair down except when I tell you. You kin smooth it upjus' like you always done. "

Having thus failed in her efforts at personal adornment, Nance turned herattention to beautifying her surroundings. The many new features observedin the homely, commonplace house in Butternut Lane stirred her ambition. Her own room, to be sure, possessed architectural defects that would havediscouraged most interior decorators. It was small and dark, with onlyone narrow opening into an air-shaft. Where the plaster had fallen off, bare laths were exposed, and in rainy weather a tin tub occupied thecenter of the floor to catch the drippings from a hole in the roof. Forthe rest, a slat bed, an iron wash-stand, and a three-legged chaircomprised the furniture. 

But Nance was not in the least daunted by the prospect. Withconsiderable ingenuity she evolved a dresser from a soap box and thecolored supplements of the Sunday papers, which she gathered into avalance, in imitation of Mrs. Purdy's bright chintz. In the air-shaftwindow she started three potato vines in bottles, but not satisfied withthe feeble results, she pinned red paper roses to the sickly white stems. The nearest substitutes she could find for pictures were labels offtomato cans, and these she tacked up with satisfaction, remembering Mrs. Purdy's admired fruit pictures. 

"'Tain't half so dark in here as 'tis down in Smeltses, " she bragged toFidy, who viewed her efforts with pessimism. "Once last summer the suncome in here fer purty near a week. It shined down the shaft. You astLobelia if it didn't. "

Nance was nailing a pin into the wall with the heel of her slipper, andthe loose plaster was dropping behind the bed. 

"Mis' Purdy says if I don't say no cuss words, an' wash meself allover on Wednesdays and Sat'days, she's goin' to help me make myself anew dress!"

"Why don't she give you one done made?" asked Fidy. 

"She ain't no charity lady!" said Nance indignantly. "Me an' her'sfriends. She said we was. "

"What's she goin' to give Dan?" asked Fidy, to whom personages from theupper world were interesting only when they bore gifts in their hands. 

"She ain't givin' him nothin', Silly! She's lettin' him help her. He gitsa quarter a hour, an' his dinner fer wheelin' Mr. Walter in the park. "

"They say Mr. Jack's give him a room over the saloon 'til his mawcomes back. "

"I reckon I know it. I made him! You jus' wait 'til December whenDan'll be fourteen. Once he gits to work he won't have to take nothin'offen nobody!"

School as well as home took on a new interest under Mrs. Purdy'sinfluence. Shoes and textbooks appeared almost miraculously, and reportsassumed a new and exciting significance. Under this new arrangement Danblossomed into a model of righteousness, but Nance's lapses from gracewere still frequent. The occasional glimpses she was getting of a code ofmanners and morals so different from those employed by her stepmother, were not of themselves sufficient to reclaim her. On the whole she foundbeing good rather stupid and only consented to conform to rules when shesaw for herself the benefit to be gained. 

For instance, when she achieved a burning desire to be on the honor rolland failed on account of being kept at home, she took the matter into herown small hands and reported herself to the once despised truantofficer. The result was a stormy interview between him and her stepmotherwhich removed all further cause of jealousy on the part of Mr. Snawdor, and gave Nance a record for perfect attendance. 

Having attained this distinction, she was fired to further effort. Shecould soon glibly say the multiplication tables backward, repeat all theverses in her school reader, and give the names and length of the mostimportant rivers in the world. On two occasions she even stepped intoprominence. The first was when she electrified a visiting trustee by herintimate knowledge of the archipelagos of the eastern hemisphere. Thefact that she had not the remotest idea of the nature of an archipelagowas mercifully not divulged. The second had been less successful. It wasduring a visit of Bishop Bland's to the school. He was making a personalinvestigation concerning a report, then current, that public schoolchildren were underfed. Bishop Bland was not fond of children, but he wassensitive to any slight put upon the stomach, and he wished very much tobe able to refute the disturbing rumor. 

"Now I cannot believe, " he said to the sixth grade, clasping his plumphands over the visible result of many good dinners, "that any one of younice boys and girls came here this morning hungry. I want any boy in theroom who is not properly nourished at home to stand up. "

Nobody rose, and the bishop cast an affirmative smile on the principal. 

"As I thought, " he continued complacently. "Now I'm going to ask anylittle girl in this room to stand up and tell us just exactly what shehad for breakfast. I shall not be in the least surprised if it was justabout what I had myself. "

There was a silence, and it began to look as if nobody was going to callthe bishop's bluff, when Nance jumped up from a rear seat and said at thetop of her voice:

"A pretzel and a dill pickle!"

The new-found enthusiasm for school might have been of longer durationhad it not been for a counter-attraction at home. From that first nightwhen old "Mr. Demry, " as he had come to be called, had played for her todance, Nance had camped on his door-step. Whenever the scrape of hisfiddle was heard from below, she dropped whatever she held, whether itwas a hot iron or the baby, and never stopped until she reached theground floor. And by and by other children found their way to him, notonly the children of the tenement, but of the whole neighborhood as well. It was soon noised abroad that he knew how to coax the fairies out of thewoods and actually into the shadows of Calvary Alley where they had neverbeen heard of before. With one or two children on his knees and a circleon the floor around him, he would weave a world of dream and rainbows, and people it with all the dear invisible deities of childhood. And whilehe talked, his thin cheeks would flush, and his dim eyes shine with thesame round wonder as his listeners. 

But some nights when the children came, they found him too sleepy to tellstories or play on the fiddle. At such times he always emptied hispockets of small coins and sent the youngsters scampering away to findthe pop-corn man. Then he would stand unsteadily at the door and watchthem go, with a wistful, disappointed look on his tired old face. 

Nance overheard her elders whispering that "he took something, " and shegreatly feared that he would meet a fate similar to that of Joe Smelts. In Joe's case it was an overcoat, and he had been forced to accept thehospitality of the State for thirty days. Nance's mind was greatlyrelieved to find that it was only powders that Mr. Demry took--powdersthat made him walk queer and talk queer and forget sometimes where helived. Then it was that the children accepted him as their specialcharge. They would go to his rescue wherever they found him and guide hiswandering footsteps into the haven of Calvary Alley. 

"He's a has-benn, " Mrs. Snawdor declared to Uncle Jed. "You an' me arenever-wases, but that old gent has seen better days. They tell me thatsettin' down in the orchestry, he looks fine. That's the reason hiscoat's always so much better'n his shoes an' pants; he dresses up thepart of him that shows. You can tell by the way he acts an' talks thathe's different from us. "

Perhaps that was the reason, that while Nance loved Uncle Jed quite asmuch, she found Mr. Demry far more interesting. Everything about him wasdifferent, from his ideas concerning the proper behavior of boys andgirls, to his few neatly distributed belongings. His two possessions thatmost excited her curiosity and admiration, were the violin and itshandsome old rosewood case, which you were not allowed to touch, and aminiature in a frame of gold, of a beautiful pink and white girl in apink and white dress, with a fair curl falling over her bare shoulder. Nance would stand before the latter in adoring silence; then she wouldinvariably say:

"Go on an' tell me about her, Mr. Demry!"

And standing behind her, with his fine sensitive hands on her shoulders, Mr. Demry would tell wonderful stories of the little girl who had oncebeen his. And as he talked, the delicate profile in the picture became anenchanting reality to Nance, stirring her imagination and furnishing anobject for her secret dreams. 

Hitherto Birdie Smelts had been her chief admiration. Birdie was fourteenand wore French heels and a pompadour and had beaux. She had worked inthe ten-cent store until her misplaced generosity with the glass beadson her counter resulted in her being sent to a reformatory. But Birdie'sbold attractions suffered in comparison with the elusive charm of thepink and white goddess with the golden curl. 

This change marked the dawn of romance in Nance's soul. Up to this timeshe had demanded of Mr. Demry the most "scareful" stories he knew, butfrom now on Blue Beard and Jack, the Giant-Killer had to make way forCinderella and the Sleeping Beauty. She went about with her head full ofdreams, and eyes that looked into an invisible world. It was not that thejuvenile politics of the alley were less interesting, or the streetfights or adventures of the gang less thrilling. It was simply that lifehad become absorbingly full of other things. 

As the months passed Mrs. Snawdor spent less and less time at home. Sheseemed to think that when she gave her nights on her knees for herfamily, she was entitled to use the remaining waking hours forrecreation. This took the form of untiring attention to other people'sbusiness. She canvassed the alley for delinquent husbands to admonish, for weddings to arrange, for funerals to supervise--the last being aspecialty, owing to experience under the late Mr. Yager. 

Upon one of the occasions when she was superintending the entrance of aneighboring baby into the world, her own made a hurried exit. A bananaand a stick of licorice proved too stimulating a diet for him, and heclosed his eyes permanently on a world that had offered few attractions. 

It was Nance who, having mothered him from his birth, worked with himthrough the long night of agony; and who, when the end came, cut thefaded cotton flowers from her hat to put in the tiny claw-like hand thathad never touched a real blossom; and it was Nance's heart that brokewhen they took him away. 

It is doubtful whether any abstract moral appeal could have awakened heras did the going out of that little futile life. It stirred her deepestsympathies and affections, and connected her for the first time with theforces that make for moral and social progress. 

"He wouldn't a-went if we'd treated him right!" she complainedbitterly to Mr. Snawdor a week later. "He never had no sunshine, norfresh air, nor nothin'. You can't expect a baby to live where asweet-potato vine can't!"

"He's better off than me, " said Mr. Snawdor, "what with the funeral, an'the coal out, an' the rent due, I'm at the end of my rope. I told her itwas comin'. But she would have a white coffin an' six hacks. They'll haveto set us out in the street fer all I can see!"

Nance looked at him apprehensively. 

"Well, we better be doin' something', " she said. "Can't Uncle Jed helpus?"

"I ain't goin' to let him. He's paid my rent fer the last time. "

This unexpected flare of independence in Mr. Snawdor was disturbing. TheSnawdor family without Uncle Jed was like a row of stitches from whichthe knitting needle has been withdrawn. 

"If I was two years older, I could go to work, " said Nance, thinking ofDan, who was now on the pay-roll of Clarke's Bottle Factory. 

"It ain't right to make you stop school, " said Mr. Snawdor. "It ain'tbein' fair to you. "

"I'd do it all right, " said Nance, fired by his magnanimity, "onlythey're on to me now I've reported myself. Ain't you makin' any money atthe shop?"

Mr. Snawdor shook his head. 

"I might if I was willin' to buy junk. But you know where them boys getstheir stuff. "

Nance nodded wisely. 

"The gang bust into a empty house last night an' cut out all the leadpipes. I seen 'em comin' home with it. "

Mr. Snawdor rose and went to the window. 

"There ain't no chance fer a honest man, " he said miserably. "I'm sick o'livin', that's whut I am. I am ready to quit. "

When Mrs. Snawdor arrived, she swept all domestic problemsimpatiently aside. 

"Fer goodness' sake don't come tellin' me no more hard-luck tales. Ain'tI got troubles enough of my own? Nance, soon 's you git through, go gitme a bucket of beer, an' if you see any of the Gormans, say I'll stop inthis evenin' on my way to work. "

"I ain't goin' fer the beer no more, " announced Nance. 

"An' will ye tell me why?" asked Mrs. Snawdor. 

"'Cause I ain't, " said Nance, knowing the futility of argument. 

Mrs. Snawdor lifted her hand to strike, but changed her mind. She wasbeginning to have a certain puzzled respect for her stepdaughter'sdecision of character. 

After the children had been put to bed and Nance had cried over thesmallest nightgown, no longer needed, she slipped down to the secondfloor and, pausing before the door behind which the sewing-machines werealways whirring, gave a peculiar whistle. It was a whistle possible onlyto a person who boasted the absence of a front tooth, and it brought IkeLavinski promptly to the door. 

Ikey was a friend whom she regarded with mingled contempt andadmiration--contempt because he was weak and undersized, admirationbecause he was the only person of her acquaintance who had ever had hisname in the newspaper. On two occasions he had been among the honorstudents at the high school, and his family and neighbors regarded him asan intellectual prodigy. 

"Say, Ikey, " said Nance, "if you was me, an' had to make some money, an'didn't want to chuck school, what would you do?"

Ikey considered the matter. Money and education were the most importantthings in the world to him, and were not to be discussed lightly. 

"If you were bigger, " he said, sweeping her with a critical eye, "youmight try sewing pants. "

"Could I do it at night? How much would it pay me? Would yer pa take meon?" Nance demanded all in a breath. 

"He would if he thought they wouldn't get on to it. "

"I'd keep it dark, " Nance urged. "I could slip down every night after Igit done my work, an' put in a couple of hours, easy. I'm a awful bigchild fer my age--feel my muscle! Go on an' make him take me on, Ikey, will you?"

And Ikey condescendingly agreed to use his influence. 

CHAPTER IX

BUTTONS

The Lavinskis' flat on the second floor had always possessed a mysteriousfascination for Nance. In and out of the other flats she passed at will, but she had never seen beyond the half-open door of the Lavinskis'. Allday and far into the night, the sewing-machines ran at high pressure, andMr. Lavinski shuffled in and out carrying huge piles of pants on hishead. The other tenants stopped on the stairs to exchange civilities orincivilities with equal warmth; they hung out of windows or dawdledsociably in doorways. But summer and winter alike the Lavinskis herdedbehind closed doors and ran their everlasting sewing-machines. 

Mrs. Snawdor gave her ready consent to Nance trying her hand as a "homefinisher. "

"We got to git money from somewheres, " she said, "an' I always did wantto know how them Polocks live. But don't you let on to your Uncle Jedwhat you're doing. "

"I ain't goin' to let on to nobody, " said Nance, thrilled with thesecrecy of the affair. 

The stifling room into which Ikey introduced her that night was supposedto be the Lavinskis' kitchen, but it was evident that the poor room hadlong ago abandoned all notions of domesticity. The tea-kettle had beencrowded off the stove by the pressing irons; a wash-tub full of neglectedclothes, squeezed itself into a distant corner, and the cooking utensilshad had to go climbing up the walls on hooks and nails to make way on theshelves for sewing materials. 

On one corner of the table, between two towering piles of pants, were theremains of the last meal, black bread, potatoes, and pickled herring. Under two swinging kerosene lamps, six women with sleeves rolled up andnecks bared, bent over whirring machines, while Mr. Lavinski knelt on thefloor tying the finished garments into huge bundles. 

"Here's Nance Molloy, Pa" said Ikey, raising his voice above the noise ofthe machines and tugging at his father's sleeve. 

Mr. Lavinski pushed his derby hat further back on his perspiring brow, and looked up. He had a dark, sharp face, and alert black eyes, exactlylike Ikey's, and a black beard with two locks of black hair traineddown in front of his ears to meet it. Without pausing in his work hesized Nance up. 

"I von't take childern anny more. I tried it many times already. Deinspector git me into troubles. It don't pay. "

"But I'll dodge the inspectors, " urged Nance. 

"You know how to sew, eh?"

"No; but you kin learn me. Please, Mr. Lavinski, Ikey said you would. "

Mr. Lavinski bestowed a doting glance on his son. 

"My Ikey said so, did he? He thinks he own me, that boy. I send him tohigh school. I send him to Hebrew class at the synagogue at night. Hevill be big rich some day, that boy; he's got a brain on him. "

"Cut it out, Pa, " said Ikey, "Nance is a smart kid; you won't loseanything on her. "

The result was that Nance was accorded the privilege of occupying a stoolin the corner behind the hot stove and sewing buttons on knee pantaloons, from eight until ten P. M. At first the novelty of working against time, with a room full of grown people, and of seeing the great stacks ofunfinished garments change into great stacks of finished ones, wasstimulation in itself. She was proud of her cushion full of strongneedles and her spool of coarse thread. She was pleased with the nods ofapproval gentle Mrs. Lavinski gave her work in passing, and of the slightinterest with which she was regarded by the other workers. 

But as the hours wore on, and the air became hotter and closer, and noenlivening conversation came to relieve the strain, her interest began towane. By nine o'clock her hands were sore and stained, and her backached. By a quarter past, the buttons were slipping through her fingers, and she could not see to thread her needle. 

"You vill do better to-morrow night, " said Mrs. Lavinski kindly, in herwheezing voice. "I tell Ikey you do verra good. "

Mrs. Lavinski looked shriveled and old. She wore a glossy black wig andlong ear-rings, and when she was not coughing, she smiled pleasantly overher work. Once Mr. Lavinski stopped pressing long enough to put a cushionat her back. 

"My Leah is a saint, " he said. "If effra'boddy was so good as her, theMessiah would come. "

Nance dreamed of buttons that night, and by the next evening her ambitionto become a wage-earner had died completely. 

But a family conclave at the supper table revealed such a crisis in thefamily finances that she decided to keep on at the Lavinskis' for anotherweek. Uncle Jed was laid up with the rheumatism, and Mr. Snawdor's entirestock in trade had been put in a wheelbarrow and dumped into the street, and a strange sign already replaced his old one of "Bungs and Fawcetts. "

Things seemed in such a bad way that Nance had about decided to lay thematter before Mrs. Purdy, when Dan brought the disconcerting news thatMrs. Purdy had taken her brother south for the rest of the winter, andthat there would be no more visits to the little house in Butternut Lane. 

So Nance, not knowing anything better to do, continued to sit nightafter night on her stool behind the hot stove, sewing on buttons. Thirty-six buttons meant four cents, four cents meant a loaf of bread--astale loaf, that is. 

"Your little fingers vill git ofer bein' sore, " Mrs. Lavinski assuredher. "I gif you alum water to put on 'em. Dat makes 'em hard. "

They not only became hard; they became quick and accurate, and Nance gotused to the heat and the smell, and she almost got used to the backache. It was sitting still and being silent that hurt her more than anythingelse. Mr. Lavinski did not encourage conversation, --it distracted theworkers, --and Nance's exuberance, which at first found vent in all sortsof jokes and capers, soon died for lack of encouragement. She learned, instead, to use all her energy on buttons and, being denied verbalexpression, she revolved many things in her small mind. The result of herthinking was summed up in her speech to her stepmother at the end of thefirst week. 

"Gee! I'm sick of doin' the same thing! I ain't learnin' nothin'. Ifanybody was smart, they could make a machine to put on two times as manybuttons as me in half the time. I want to begin something at thebeginning and make it clean through. I'm sick an' tired of buttons. I'mgoin' to quit!"

But Mrs. Snawdor had come to a belated realization of the depleted stateof the family treasury and she urged Nance to keep on for the present. 

"We better cut all the corners we kin, " she said, "till Snawdor gits overthis fit of the dumps. Ain't a reason in the world he don't go into thejunk business. I ain't astin' him to drive aroun' an' yell 'Old iron!' Iknow that's tryin' on a bashful man. All I ast him is to set still an'let it come to him. Thank the Lord, I _have_ known husbands that wasn'tchicken-hearted!"

So Nance kept on reluctantly, even after Mr. Snawdor got a small jobcollecting. Sometimes she went to sleep over her task and had to beshaken awake, but that was before she began to drink black coffee withthe other workers at nine o'clock. 

One thing puzzled her. When Ikey came from night school, he was neverasked to help in the work, no matter how much his help was needed. He wasalways given the seat by the table nearest the lamp, and his fatherhimself cleared a place for his books. 

"Ikey gits the education, " Mr. Lavinski would say, with a proud smile. "The Rabbi says he is the smartest boy in the class. He takes prizes overbig boys. Ve vork fer him now, an' some day he make big money an' takecare of us!"

Education as seen through Mr. Lavinski's eyes took on a new aspect forNance. It seemed that you did not get rich by going to work at fourteen, but by staying at school and in some miraculous way skipping the factoryaltogether. "I vork with my hands, " said Mr. Lavinski; "my Ikey, he vorkswith his head. "

Nance fell into the way of bringing her school books downstairs at nightand getting Ike to help her with her lessons. She would prop the book infront of her and, without lessening the speed of her flying fingers, plyhim with the questions that had puzzled her during the day. 

"I wisht I was smart as you!" she said one night. 

"I reckon you do!" said Ike. "I work for it. "

"You couldn't work no more 'n whut I do!" Nance said indignantly. 

"There's a difference between working and being worked, " said Ike, wisely. "If I were you, I'd look out for number one. "

"But who would do the cookin' an' lookin' after the kids, an' all?"

"They are nothing to you, " said Ike; "none of the bunch is kin to you. Catch me workin' for them like you do!"

Nance was puzzled, but not convinced. Wiser heads than hers havestruggled with a similar problem in vain. She kept steadily on, and itwas only when the squeak of Mr. Demry's fiddle came up from below thather fingers fumbled and the buttons went rolling on the floor. Sixnights in the week, when Mr. Demry was in condition, he played at thetheater, and on Sunday nights he stayed at home and received his youngfriends. On these occasions Nance became so restless that she couldscarcely keep her prancing feet on the floor. She would hook themresolutely around the legs of the stool and even sit on them one at atime, but despite all her efforts, they would respond to the rhythmicnotes below. 

"Them tunes just make me dance settin' down, " she declared, trying tosuit the action to the words. 

Sometimes on a rainy afternoon when nobody was being born, or gettingmarried, or dying, Mrs. Snawdor stayed at home. At such times Nanceseized the opportunity to shift her domestic burden. 

There was a cheap theater, called "The Star, " around the corner, where anoisy crowd of boys and girls could always be found in the gallery. Itwas a place where you ate peanuts and dropped the shells on the heads ofpeople below, where you scrapped for your seat and joined in the chorusand shrieked over the antics of an Irishman, a darkey, or a Jew. But itwas a luxury seldom indulged in, for it cost the frightful sum of tencents, not including the peanuts. 

For the most part Nance's leisure half-hours were spent with Mr. Demry, discussing a most exciting project. He was contemplating the unheard-offestivity of a Christmas party, and the whole alley was buzzing with it. Even the big boys in Dan's gang were going to take part. There were tobe pirates and fairies and ogres, and Nance was to be the princess anddo a fancy dance in a petticoat trimmed with silver paper, and wear atinsel crown. 

Scrubbing the floor, figuring on the blackboard, washing dishes, orsewing on buttons, she was aware of that tinsel crown. For one magicnight it was going to transform her into a veritable princess, and whoknew but that a prince in doublet and hose and sweeping plume mightarrive to claim her? But when Nance's imagination was called upon tovisualize the prince, a hateful image came to her of a tall, slender boy, clad in white, with a contemptuous look in his handsome brown eyes. 

"I don't know what ails Nance these days, " Mrs. Snawdor complained toUncle Jed. "She sasses back if you look at her, an' fergits everything, an' Snawdor says she mutters an' jabbers something awful in her sleep. "

"Seems to me she works too hard, " said Uncle Jed, still ignorant of herextra two hours in the sweat-shop. "A growin' girl oughtn't to be doin'heavy washin' an' carryin' water an' coal up two flights. "

"Why, Nance is strong as a ox, " Mrs. Snawdor insisted, "an' as fereatin'! Why it looks like she never can git filled up. "

"Well, what ails her then?" persisted Uncle Jed. 

"I bet I know!" said Mrs. Snawdor darkly. "It's that there vaccination. Las' time I hid the other childern from the inspector she had to come outan' argue with him fer herself. She got paid up proper fer givin' in tohim. Her arm was a plumb sight. "

"Do you suppose it's the poison still workin' on her?" Uncle Jed asked, watching Nance in the next room as she lifted a boiler filled with thewashing water from the stove. 

"Why, of course, it is! Talk to me about yer State rules an'regerlations! It does look like us poor people has got troubles enoughalready, without rich folks layin' awake nights studyin' up what they cando to us next. "

CHAPTER X

THE PRINCESS COMES TO GRIEF

And bring her rose-winged fancies, From shadowy shoals of dreamTo clothe her in the wistful hourWhen girlhood steals from bud to flower;Bring her the tunes of elfin dances, Bring her the faery Gleam. --BURKE. 

Christmas fell on a Saturday and a payday, and this, together with Mr. Demry's party, accounts for the fact that the holiday spirit, whichsometimes limps a trifle languidly past tenement doors, swaggered withunusual gaiety this year in Calvary Alley. You could hear it in thecathedral chimes which began at dawn, in the explosion of fire-crackers, in the bursts of noisy laughter from behind swinging doors. You couldsmell it in the whiffs of things frying, broiling, burning. You couldfeel it in the crisp air, in the crunch of the snow under your feet, andmost of all you could see it in the happy, expectant faces of thechildren, who rushed in and out in a fever of excitement. 

Early in the afternoon Nance Molloy, with a drab-colored shawl over herhead and something tightly clasped in one bare, chapped fist, rushedforth on a mysterious mission. When she returned, she carried apasteboard box hugged to her heart. The thought of tripping her fairymeasure in worn-out shoes tied on with strings, had become so intolerableto her that she had bartered her holiday for a pair of white slippers. Mr. Lavinski had advanced the money, and she was to work six hours a day, instead of two, until she paid the money back. 

But she was in no mood to reckon the cost, as she prepared for theevening festivities. So great was her energy and enthusiasm, that thecontagion spread to the little Snawdors, each of whom submitted withunprecedented meekness to a "wash all over. " Nance dressed herself last, wrapping her white feet and legs in paper to keep them clean until thegreat hour should arrive. 

"Why, Nance Molloy! You look downright purty!" Mrs. Snawdor exclaimed, when she came up after assisting Mr. Demry with his refreshments. "Inever would 'a' believed it!"

Nance laughed happily. The effect had been achieved by much experimentingbefore the little mirror over her soap box. The mirror had a wave in itwhich gave the beholder two noses, but Nance had kept her pink and whiteideal steadily in mind, and the result was a golden curl over a bareshoulder. The curl would have been longer had not half of it remained ina burnt wisp around the poker. 

But such petty catastrophes have no place in a heart overflowing withjoy. Nance did not even try to keep her twinkling feet from dancing;she danced through the table-setting and through the dish-washing, andbetween times she pressed her face to the dirty pane of the frontwindow to see if the hands on the big cathedral clock were getting anynearer to five. 

"They're goin' to have Christmas doin's over to the cathedral, too, " shecried excitedly. "The boards is off the new window, an' it's jus' likethe old one, an' ever'thing's lit up, an' it's snowin' like ever'thing!"

Mr. Demry's party was to take place between the time he came home fromthe matinee and the time he returned for the evening performance. Longbefore the hour appointed, his guests began to arrive, dirty-faced andclean, fat and thin, tidy and ragged, big and little, but all wearing intheir eyes that gift of nature to the most sordid youth, the gift ofexpectancy. There were fairies and ogres and pirates and Indians incostumes that needed only the proper imagination to make them convincing. If by any chance a wistful urchin arrived in his rags alone, Mr. Demrypromptly evolved a cocked hat from a newspaper, and a sword from a boxtop, and transformed him into a prancing knight. 

The children had been to Sunday-school entertainments where they had satin prim rows and watched grown people have all the fun of fixing thetree and distributing the presents, but for most of them this was thefirst Christmas that they had actually helped to make. Every link in thecolored paper garlands was a matter of pride to some one. 

What the children had left undone, Mr. Demry had finished. All themovables had been put out of sight as if they were never to be wantedagain. From the ceiling swung two glowing paper lanterns that threw soft, mysterious, dancing lights on things. In the big fireplace a huge firecrackled and roared, and on the shelf above it were stacks of goldenoranges, and piles of fat, brown doughnuts. Across one corner, on a stoutcord, hung some green branches with small candles twinkling above them. It was not exactly a Christmas tree, but it had evidently fooled SantaClaus, for on every branch hung a trinket or a toy for somebody. 

And nobody thought, least of all Mr. Demry, of how many squeaks of theold fiddle had gone into the making of this party, of the bread and meatthat had gone into the oranges and doughnuts, of the fires that shouldhave warmed Mr. Demry's chilled old bones for weeks to come, that wentroaring up the wide chimney in one glorious burst of prodigality. 

When the party was in full swing and the excitement was at its highest, the guests were seated on the floor in a double row, and Mr. Demry tookhis stand by the fireplace, with his fiddle under his chin, and begantuning up. 

Out in the dark hall, in quivering expectancy, stood the princess, shivering with impatience as she waited for Dan to fling open the doorfor her triumphant entrance. Every twang of the violin stringsvibrated in her heart, and she could scarcely wait for the signal. Itwas the magic moment when buttons ceased to exist and tinsel crownsbecame a reality. 

The hall was dark and very cold, and the snow drifting in made a whitepatch on the threshold. Nance, steadying her crown against the icydraught, lifted her head suddenly and listened. From the room on theopposite side of the hall came a woman's frightened cry, followed by thesound of breaking furniture. The next instant the door was flung open, and Mrs. Smelts, with her baby in her arms, rushed forth. Close behindher rolled Mr. Smelts, his shifted ballast of Christmas cheer threateningeach moment to capsize him. 

"I'll learn ye to stop puttin' cures in my coffee!" he bellowed. "Spoilin' me taste fer liquor, are ye? I'll learn ye!"

"I never meant no harm, Jim, " quailed Mrs. Smelts, cowering in the cornerwith one arm upraised to shield the baby. "I seen the ad in the paper. Itclaimed to be a whisky-cure. Don't hit me, Jim--don't--" But before shecould finish, Mr. Smelts had struck her full in the face with a brutalfist and had raised his arm to strike again. But the blow never fell. 

The quick blood that had made Phil Molloy one of the heroes of ChickasawBluffs rose in the veins of his small granddaughter, and she suddenly sawred. Had Jim Smelts been twice the size he was, she would have sprung athim just the same and rained blow after stinging blow upon his befuddledhead with her slender fairy wand. 

"Git up the steps!" she shrieked to Mrs. Smelts. "Fer God's sake git outof his way! Dan! Dan Lewis! Help! Help!"

Mr. Smelts, infuriated at the interference, had pinioned Nance's armsbehind her and was about to beat her crowned head against the wall whenDan rushed into the hall. 

"Throw him out the front door!" screamed Nance. "Help me push him downthe steps!"

Mr. Smelts' resistance was fierce, but brief. His legs were much drunkerthan his arms, and when the two determined youngsters flung themselvesupon him and shoved him out of the door, he lost his balance and fellheadlong to the street below. 

By this time the party had swarmed into the hall and out on the stepsand Mr. Demry's gentle, frightened face could be seen peering over theirdecorated heads. The uproar had brought other tenants scurrying from theupper floors, and somebody was dispatched for a police. Dense anddenser grew the crowd, and questions, excuses, accusations were heard onevery side. 

"They've done killed him, " wailed a woman's voice above the other noises. It was Mrs. Smelts who, with all the abandonment of a bereft widow, castherself beside the huddled figure lying motionless in the snow. 

"What's all this row about?" demanded Cockeye, forcing his way to thefront and assuming an air of stern authority. 

"They've killed my Jim!" wailed Mrs. Smelts. "I'm goin' to have thelaw on 'em!"

The policeman, with an impolite request that she stop that therecaterwauling, knelt on the wet pavement and made a hasty diagnosisof the case. 

"Leg's broke, and head's caved in a bit. That's all I can see is thematter of him. Who beat him up?"

"Him an' her!" accused Mrs. Smelts hysterically, pointing to Dan andNance, who stood shivering beside Mr. Demry on the top step. 

"Well, I'll be hanged if them ain't the same two that was had up lastsummer!" said the policeman in profound disgust. "It's good-by fer themall right. "

"But we was helpin' Mis' Smelts!" cried Nance in bewilderment. "He wasbeatin' her. He was goin' to hit the baby--"

"Here comes the Black Maria!" yelled an emissary from the corner, andthe crowd parted as the long, narrow, black patrol-wagon clanged noisilyinto the narrow court. 

Mr. Smelts was lifted in, none too gently, and as he showed no signs ofreturning consciousness, Cock-eye paused irresolute and looked at Dan. 

"You best be comin' along, too, " he said with sudden decision. "The blokemay be hurt worse 'rn I think. I'll just drop you at the detention home'til over Sunday. "

"You shan't take Dan Lewis!" cried Nance in instant alarm. "He washelpin' me, I tell you! He ain't done nothin' bad--" Then as Dan washustled down the steps and into the wagon, she lost her head completely. Regardless of consequences, she hurled herself upon the law. She bit itand scratched it and even spat upon it. 

Had Mrs. Snawdor or Uncle Jed been there, the catastrophe would neverhave happened; but Mrs. Snawdor was at the post-office, and Uncle Jed atthe signal tower, and the feeble protests of Mr. Demry were as futile asthe twittering of a sparrow. 

"I'll fix you, you little spitfire!" cried the irate officer, holding herhands and lifting her into the wagon. "Some of you women put a cloakaround her, and be quick about it. "

Nance, refusing to be wrapped up, continued to fight savagely. 

"I ain't goin' in the hurry-up wagon!" she screamed. "I ain't donenothin' bad! Let go my hands!"

But the wagon was already moving out of the alley, and Nance suddenlyceased to struggle. An accidental combination of circumstances, toocomplicated and overwhelming to be coped with, was hurrying her away tosome unknown and horrible fate. She looked at her mud-splashed whiteslippers that were not yet paid for, and then back at the bright windowbehind which the party was waiting. In a sudden anguish of disappointmentshe flung herself face downward on the long seat and sobbed with apassion that was entirely too great for her small body. 

Sitting opposite, his stiff, stubby hair sticking out beneath his piratehat, Dan Lewis, forgetting his own misfortune, watched her with dumbcompassion, and between them, on the floor, lay a drunken hulk of a manwith blood trickling across his ugly, bloated face, his muddy feetresting on all that remained of a gorgeous, tinsel crown. 

It was at this moment that the Christmas spirit fled in despair fromCalvary Alley and took refuge in the big cathedral where, behind themagnificent new window, a procession of white-robed choir-boys, led byMac Clarke, were joyously proclaiming:

"Hark! the herald angels singGlory to the new-born King;"

CHAPTER XI

THE STATE TAKES A HAND

The two reformatories to which the children, after various examinations, were consigned, represented the worst and the best types of suchinstitutions. 

Dan Lewis was put behind barred windows with eight hundred other young"foes of society. " He was treated as a criminal, and when he resented it, he was put under a cold shower and beaten with a rattan until he fainted. Outraged, humiliated, bitterly resentful, his one idea was to escape. Atthe end of a month of cruelty and injustice he was developing a hatredagainst authority that would ultimately have landed him in the Stateprison had not a miraculous interference from without set him free andreturned him to his work in Clarke's Bottle Factory. 

It all came about through a letter received by Mrs. Purdy, who waswintering in Florida--a tear-stained, blotted, misspelled letter that hadbeen achieved with great difficulty. It ran:

Dear Mis Purdy, me and Dan Lewis is pinched again. But I ain't aDellinkent. The jedge says theres a diffrunce. He says he was not putingme in becose I was bad but becose I was not brot upright. He says for meto be good and stay here and git a education. He says its my chanct. Iwas mad at first, but now I aint. What Im writing you fer is to git DanLewis out. He never done nothink what was wrong and he got sent to theHouse of Refuse. Please Mis Purdy you git him off. He aint bad. You knowhe aint. You ast everbody at home, and then go tell the Jedge and git himoff. I can't stan fer him to be in that ole hole becose it aint fair. Please don't stop at nothink til you git him out. So good-by, loveingly, NANCE. 

This had been written a little at a time during Nance's first week atForest Home. She had arrived in such a burning state of indignation thatit required the combined efforts of the superintendent and the matron tocalm her. In fact her spirit did not break until she was subjected to athorough scrubbing from head to foot, and put to bed on a long porchbetween cold, clean sheets. She was used to sleeping in her underclothesin the hot close air of Snawdor's flat, with Fidy and Lobelia snuggled upon each side. This icy isolation was intolerable! Her hair, still damp, felt strange and uncomfortable; her eyes smarted from the recentapplication of soap. She lay with her knees drawn up to her chin andshivered and cried to go home. 

Hideous thoughts tormented her. Who'd git up the coal, an' do thewashin'? Would Mr. Snawdor fergit an' take off Rosy's aesophedity bag, so she'd git the measles an' die like the baby? What did Mr. Lavinskithink of her fer not comin' to work out the slipper money? Would Dan evergit his place back at the factory after he'd been in the House of Refuse?Was Mr. Smelts' leg broke plum off, so's he'd have to hobble on apeg-stick?

She cowered under the covers. "God aint no friend of mine, " she sobbedmiserably. 

When she awoke the next morning, she sat up and looked about her. Theporch in which she lay was enclosed from floor to ceiling in glass, andthere were rows of small white beds like her own, stretching away on eachside of her. The tip of her nose was very cold, but the rest of her wassurprisingly warm, and the fresh air tasted good in her mouth. It wasappallingly still and strange, and she lay down and listened for thesounds that did not come. 

There were no factory whistles, no clanging of car bells, no lumbering ofheavy wagons. Instead of the blank wall of a warehouse upon which she wasused to opening her eyes, there were miles and miles of dim white fields. Presently a wonderful thing happened. Something was on fire out there atthe edge of the world--something big and round and red. Nance held herbreath and for the first time in her eleven years saw the sun rise. 

When getting-up time came, she went with eighteen other girls into a big, warm dressing-room. 

"This is your locker, " said the girl in charge. 

"My whut?" asked Nance. 

"Your locker, where you put your clothes. "

Nance had no clothes except the ones she was about to put on, but theprospect of being the sole possessor of one of those little closetsbrought her the first gleam of consolation. 

The next followed swiftly. The owner of the adjoining locker proved to beno other than Birdie Smelts. Whatever fear Nance had of Birdie'sresenting the part she had played in landing Mr. Smelts in the cityhospital was promptly banished. 

"You can't tell me nothing about paw, " Birdie said at the end of Nance'srecital. "I only wish it was his neck instead of his leg that was broke. "

"But we never aimed to hurt him, " explained Nance, to whom the accidentstill loomed as a frightful nightmare. "They didn't have no right to sendme out here. "

"It ain't so worse, " said Birdie indifferently. "You get enough to eatand you keep warm and get away from rough-housin'; that's something. "

"But I don't belong here!" protested Nance, hotly. 

"Aw, forget it, " advised Birdie, with a philosophical shrug of hershapely shoulders. Birdie was not yet fifteen, but she had alreadylearned to take the course of least resistance. She was a pretty, weak-faced girl, with a full, graceful figure and full red lips andheavy-lidded eyes that always looked sleepy. 

"I wouldn't keer so much if it wasn't fer Dan Lewis, " Nance saidmiserably. "He was inside Mr. Demry's room, an' never knowed a thingabout it 'til I hollered. "

"Say, I believe you are gone on Dan!" said Birdie, lifting ateasing finger. 

"I ain't either!" said Nance indignantly, "but I ain't goin' to quittryin' 'til I git him out!"

In the bright airy dining-room where they went for breakfast, Nance satat a small table with five other girls and scornfully refused the glassof milk they offered her as a substitute for the strong coffee to whichshe was accustomed. She had about decided to starve herself to death, butchanged her mind when the griddle-cakes and syrup appeared. 

In fact, she changed her mind about many things during those first days. After a few acute attacks of homesickness, she began despite herself totake a pioneer's delight in blazing a new trail. It was the first timeshe had ever come into contact for more than a passing moment, withdecent surroundings and orderly living, and her surprises were endless. 

"Say, do these guys make you put on airs like this all the time?" sheasked incredulously of her table-companion. 

"Like what?"

"Like eatin' with a fork, an' washin' every day, an' doin' yer hair overwhether it needs it or not?"

"If I had hair as grand as yours, they wouldn't have to make me fix it, "said the close-cropped little girl enviously. 

Nance looked at her suspiciously. Once before she had been lured by thatbait, and she was wary. But the envy in the eyes of the short-haired girlwas genuine. 

Nance took the first opportunity that presented itself to look in amirror. To her amazement, her tight, drab-colored braids had becomegleaming bands of gold, and there were fluffy little tendrils across herforehead and at the back of her neck. It was unbelievable, too, how muchmore becoming one nose was to the human countenance than two. 

A few days later when one of the older girls said teasingly, "NanceMolloy is stuck on her hair!" Nance answered proudly, "Well, ain't I gota right to be?"

At the end of the first month word came from Mrs. Purdy that she hadsucceeded in obtaining Dan's release, and that he was back at work atClarke's, and on probation again. This news, instead of making Nancerestless for her own freedom, had quite the opposite effect. Now that herworry over Dan was at an end, she resigned herself cheerfully to thebusiness of being reformed. 

The presiding genius of Forest Home was Miss Stanley, the superintendent. She did not believe in high fences or uniforms or bodily punishment. Shewas tall, handsome, and serene, and she treated the girls with the samegrave courtesy with which she treated the directors. 

Nance regarded her with something of the worshipful awe she had once feltbefore an image of the Virgin Mary. 

"She don't make you 'fraid exactly, " she confided to Birdie. "She makesyou 'shamed. "

"You can tell she's a real lady the way she shines her finger-nails, "said Birdie, to whom affairs of the toilet were of great importance. 

"Another way you can tell, " Nance added, trying to think the thing outfor herself, "is the way she takes slams. You an' me sass back, but areal lady knows how to hold her jaw an' make you eat dirt just the same. "

They were standing side by side at a long table in a big, clean kitchen, cutting out biscuit for supper. Other white-capped, white-aproned girls, all intent upon their own tasks, were flitting about, and a teacher satat a desk beside the window, directing the work. The two girls had falleninto the habit of doing their chores together and telling each othersecrets. Birdie's had mostly to do with boys, and it was not long beforeNance felt called upon to make a few tentative observations on the sameengrossing subject. 

"The prettiest boy I ever seen--" she said, "I mean I have eversaw"--then she laughed helplessly. "Well, anyhow, he was that Clarkefeller. You know, the one that got pinched fer smashin' the window thefirst time we was had up?"

"Mac Clarke? Sure, I know him. He's fresh all right. "

Birdie did not go into particulars, but she looked important. 

"Say, Birdie, " Nance asked admiringly, "when you git out of here, whatyou goin' to do?"

"I'll tell you what I _ain't_ going to do, " said Birdie, impressively, ina low voice, "I ain't going to stand in a store, and I ain't going out towork, and I ain't going to work at Clarke's!"

"But what else is left to do?"

"Swear you won't tell?"

Nance crossed her heart with a floury finger. 

"I'm going to be a actress, " said Birdie. 

It was fortunate for Nance that Birdie's term at the home soon ended. Shewas at that impressionable age which reflects the nearest object ofinterest, and shortly after Birdie's departure she abandoned the idea ofjoining her on the professional boards, and decided instead to become aveterinary surgeon. 

This decision was reached through a growing intimacy with the lame oldsoldier who presided over the Forest Home stables. "Doc" was a familiarcharacter in the county, and his advice about horses was sought far andnear. Next to horses he liked children, and after them dogs. Adults camerather far down the line, excepting always Miss Stanley, whom heregarded as infallible. 

On the red-letter Sunday when Uncle Jed had tramped the ten miles outfrom town to assure himself of Nance's well-being, he discovered in Docan old comrade of the Civil War. They had been in the same company, UncleJed as a drummer boy, and Doc in charge of the cavalry horses. 

"Why, I expect you recollict this child's grandpaw, " Uncle Jed said, withhis hand on Nance's head, "Molloy, 'Fightin' Phil, ' they called him. Wentdown with the colors at Chickasaw Bluffs. "

Doc did remember. Fighting Phil had been one of the idols of his boyhood. 

Miss Stanley found in this friendship a solution of Nance's chiefdifficulty. When a person of eleven has been doing practical housekeepingfor a family of eight, she naturally resents the suggestion that there isanything in domestic science for her to learn. Moreover, when said personis anemic and nervous from overwork, and has a tongue that has neverknown control, it is perilously easy to get into trouble, despite heroicefforts to be good. 

The wise superintendent saw in the girl all sorts of possibilities forboth good and evil. For unselfish service and passionate sacrifice, aswell as obstinate rebellion and hot-headed folly. 

At those unhappy times when Nance threatened to break over the bounds, she was sent out to the stables to spend an afternoon with Doc. Nomatter how sore her grievance, it vanished in the presence of the genialold veterinarian. She never tired of hearing him tell of her fightingIrish grandfather and the pranks he played on his messmates, of Uncle Jedand the time he lost his drumsticks and marched barefoot in the snow, beating his drum with the heels of his shoes. 

Most of all she liked the horses. She learned how to put on bandages andpoultices and to make a bran mash. Doc taught her how to give a sickhorse a drink out of a bottle without choking him, how to hold his tonguewith one hand and put a pill far down his throat with the other. Thenursing of sick animals seemed to come to her naturally, and she found itmuch more interesting than school work and domestic science. 

"She's got a way with critters, " Doc confided proudly to Miss Stanley. "I've seen a horse eat out of her hand when it wouldn't touch food inthe manger. "

As the months slipped into years, the memory of Calvary Alley grew dim, and Nance began to look upon herself as an integral part of thisorderly life which stretched away in a pleasant perspective of work andplay. It was the first time that she had ever been tempted to be good, and she fell. It was not Miss Stanley's way to say "don't. " Instead, she said, "do, " and the "do's" became so engrossing that the "don'ts"were crowded out. 

At regular, intervals Mrs. Snawdor made application for her dismissal, and just as regularly a probation officer visited the Snawdor flat andpronounced it unfit. 

"I suppose if I had a phoneygraf an' lace curtains you'd let her comehome, " Mrs. Snawdor observed caustically during one of these inspections. "You bet I'll fix things up next time if I know you are comin'!"

The State was doing its clumsy best to make up to Nance for what she hadmissed. It was giving her free board, free tuition, and protection fromharmful influences. But that did not begin to square the State's account, nor the account of society. They still owed her something for that earlyenvironment of dirt and disease. The landlord in whose vile tenement shehad lived, the saloon-keeper who had sold her beer, the manufacturer whohad bought the garments she made at starvation wages, were all herdebtors. Society exists for the purpose of doing justice to its members, and society had not begun to pay its debt to that youthful member whoselot had been cast in Calvary Alley. 

One Saturday afternoon in the early spring of Nance's fourth year atForest Home, Miss Stanley stood in the school-house door, reading aletter. It was the kind of a day when heaven and earth cannot keep awayfrom each other, but the fleecy clouds must come down to play in thesparkling pools, and white and pink blossoms must go climbing up to thesky to flaunt their sweetness against the blue. Yet Miss Stanley, readingher letter, sighed. 

Coming toward her down the hillside, plunged a noisy group of children, and behind them in hot pursuit came Nance Molloy, angular, long-legged, lithe as a young sapling and half mad with the spring. 

"Such a child still!" sighed Miss Stanley, as she lifted abeckoning hand. 

The children crowded about her, all holding out hot fists full of fadedwild flowers. 

"Look!" cried one breathlessly. "We found 'em in the hollow. And Nancesays if you'll let her, she'll take us next Saturday to the old millwhere some yellow vi'lets grow!"

Miss Stanley looked down at the flushed, happy faces; then she put herarm around Nance's shoulder. 

"Nancy will not be with us next Saturday, " she said regretfully. "She'sgoing home. "

CHAPTER XII

CLARKE'S

Nance Molloy came out of Forest Home, an independent, efficient girl, with clear skin, luminous blue eyes, and shining braids of fair hair. Shecame full of ideals and new standards and all the terrible wisdom ofsixteen, and she dumped them in a mass on the family in Calvary Alley andboldly announced that "what she was going to do was a-plenty!"

But like most reformers, she reckoned too confidently on cooperation. Therest of the Snawdor family had not been to reform school, and it hadstrong objections to Nance's drastic measures. Her innovations met withbitter opposition from William J. , who indignantly declined to have thehitherto respected privacy of his ears and nose invaded, to Mrs. Snawdor, who refused absolutely to sleep with the windows open. 

"What's the sense in working your fingers off to buy coal to heat thehouse if you go an' let out all the hot air over night?" she demanded. "They've filled up yer head with fool notions, but I tell you right now, you ain't goin' to work 'em off on us. You kin just tell that old maidStanley that when she's had three husbands and five children an' a step, an' managed to live on less'n ten dollars a week, it'll be time enoughfer her to be learnin' me tricks!"

"But don't all this mess ever get on your nerves? Don't you ever want toclear out and go to the country?" asked Nance. 

"Not me!" said Mrs. Snawdor. "I been fightin' the country all my life. It's bad enough bein' dirt pore, without goin' an' settin' down among thestumps where there ain't nothin' to take yer mind off it. "

So whatever reforms Nance contemplated had to be carried out slowly andwith great tact. Mrs. Snawdor, having put forth one supreme effort tomake the flat sufficiently decent to warrant Nance's return, proposed forthe remainder of her life to rest on her laurels. As for the children, they had grown old enough to have decided opinions of their own, and whenNance threw the weight of her influence on the side of order andcleanliness, she was regarded as a traitor in the camp. It was only Mr. Snawdor who sought to uphold her, and Mr. Snawdor was but a broken reed. 

Meanwhile the all-important question of getting work was underdiscussion. Miss Stanley had made several tentative suggestions, but noneof them met with Mrs. Snawdor's approval. 

"No, I ain't goin' to let you work out in private families!" shedeclared indignantly. "She's got her cheek to ast it! Did you tell heryer pa was a Molloy? An' Mr. Burks says yer maw was even better born thanwhat Bud was. I'm goin' to git you a job myself. I'm goin' to take you upto Clarke's this very evenin'. "

"I don't want to work in a factory!" Nance said discontentedly, lookingout of the window into the dirty court below. 

"I suppose you want to run a beauty parlor, " said Mrs. Snawdor, withscornful reference to Nance's improved appearance. "You might just aswell come off them high stilts an' stop puttin' on airs, Dan Lewis hasbeen up to Clarke's goin' on four years now. I hear they're pushin' himright along. "

Nance stopped drumming on the window-pane and became suddenly interested. The one thing that had reconciled her to leaving Miss Stanley and thegirls at the home was the possibility of seeing Dan again. She wonderedwhat he looked like after these four years, whether he would recognizeher, whether he had a sweetheart? She had been home three days now andhad caught no glimpse of him. 

"We never see nothin' of him, " her stepmother told her. "He's took upwith the Methodists, an' runs around to meetin's an' things with thatthere Mis' Purdy. "

"Don't he live over Slap Jack's?" asked Nance. 

"Yes; he's got his room there still. I hear his ma died las' spring. Flirtin' with the angels by now, I reckon. "

The prospect of seeing Dan cheered Nance amazingly. She spent the morningwashing and ironing her best shirt-waist and turning the ribbon on hertam-o'-shanter. Every detail of her toilet received scrupulous attention. 

It was raining dismally when she and Mrs. Snawdor picked their way acrossthe factory yard that afternoon. The conglomerate mass of buildings knownas "Clarke's" loomed somberly against the dull sky. Beside the lowcentral building a huge gas-pipe towered, and the water, trickling downit, made a puddle through which they had to wade to reach the door of thefurnace room. 

Within they could see the huge, round furnace with its belt of smallfiery doors, from which glass-blowers, with long blow-pipes were deftlytaking small lumps of moulten glass and blowing them into balls. 

"There's Dan!" cried Mrs. Snawdor, and Nance looked eagerly in thedirection indicated. 

In the red glare of the furnace, a big, awkward, bare-armed young fellowwas just turning to roll his red-hot ball on a board. There was a steadylook in the gray eyes that scowled slightly under the intense glare, asure movement of the hands that dropped the elongated roll into themold. When he saw Mrs. Snawdor's beckoning finger, he came to the door. 

"This here is Nance Molloy, " said Mrs. Snawdor by way of introduction. "She's about growed up sence you seen her. We come to see about gittin'her a job. "

Nance, looking at the strange, stern face above her, withdrew the handshe had held out. Dan did not seem to see her hand any more than he sawher fresh shirt-waist and the hat she had taken so much pains to retrim. After a casual nod he stood looking at the floor and rubbing the toe ofhis heavy boot against his blow-pipe. 

"Sure, " he said slowly, "but this is no fit place for a girl, Mrs. Snawdor. "

Mrs. Snawdor bristled immediately. 

"I ain't astin' yer advice, Dan Lewis. I'm astin' yer help. "

Dan looked Nance over in troubled silence. 

"Is she sixteen yet?" he asked as impersonally as if she had notbeen present. 

"Yes, an' past. I knowed they'd be scarin' up that dangerous tradebusiness on me next. How long before the foreman'll be here?"

"Any time now, " said Dan. "I'll take you into his office. "

With a sinking heart, Nance followed them into the crowded room. The heatwas stifling, and the air was full of stinging glass dust. All aboutthem boys were running with red hot bottles on big asbestos shovels. Shehated the place, and she hated Dan for not being glad to see her. 

"They are the carrying-in boys, " Dan explained, continuing to address allof his remarks to Mrs. Snawdor. "That's where I began. You wouldn'tbelieve that those kids often run as much as twenty-two miles a day. Watch out there, boy! Be careful!"

But his warning came too late. One of the smaller youngsters had stumbledand dropped his shovel, and a hot bottle had grazed his leg, burning awaya bit of the stocking. 

"It's all right, Partner, " cried Dan, springing forward, "You're not muchhurt. I'll fix you up. "

But the boy was frightened and refused to let him remove the stocking. 

"Let me do it, " begged Nance. "I can get it off without hurting him. "

And while Dan held the child's leg steady, she bathed and bound it in away that did credit to Doc's training. Only once daring the process didshe look up, and then she was relieved to see instead of the stern faceof a strange young man, the compassionate, familiar face of the old Danshe used to know. 

The interview with the foreman was of brief duration. He was athick-set, pimply-faced person whom Dan called Mr. Bean. He swept anappraising eye over the applicant, submitted a few blunt questions to Danin an undertone, ignored Mrs. Snawdor's voluble comments, and ended bytelling Nance to report for work the following week. 

As Mrs. Snawdor and Nance took their departure, the former, whosethoughts seldom traveled on a single track, said tentatively:

"Dan Lewis has got to be real nice lookin' sence you seen him, ain't he?"

"Nothin' to brag on, " said Nance, still smarting at his indifference. Butas she turned the corner of the building, she stole a last look throughthe window to where Dan was standing at his fiery post, his strong, serious face and broad, bare chest lighted up by the radiance from theglory-hole. 

It was with little enthusiasm that Nance presented herself at the factoryon Monday morning, ready to enlist in what Bishop Bland called "the nobleservice of industry. " Her work was in the finishing room where a numberof girls were crowded at machines and tables, filing, clipping, andpacking bottles. Her task was to take the screw-neck bottles that camefrom the leer, and chip and file their jagged necks and shoulders untilall the roughness was removed. It was dirty work, and dangerous forunskilled hands, and she found it difficult to learn. 

"Say, kid, " said the ugly, hollow-chested girl beside her, "if I'm goin'to be your learner, I want you to be more particular. Between you an'this here other girl, you're fixin' to put my good eye out. "

Nance glanced up at the gaunt face with its empty eye socket and thenlooked quickly away. 

"Say, " said the other new girl, complainingly, "is it always hot likethis in here? I'm most choking. "

"We'll git the boss to put in a 'lectric fan fer you, " suggested thehollow-chested one, whose name was Mag Gist. 

Notwithstanding her distaste for the work, Nance threw herself into itwith characteristic vehemence. Speed seemed to be the quality above allothers that one must strive for, and speed she was determined to have, regardless of consequences. 

"When you learn how to do this, what do you learn next?" she askedpresently. 

Mag laughed gruffly. 

"There ain't no next. If you'd started as a wrapper, you might 'a'worked up a bit, but you never would 'a' got to be a chuck-grinder. Ibeen at this bench four years an' if I don't lose my job, I'll be herefour more. "

"But if you get to be awful quick, you can make money, can't you?"

"You kin make enough to pay fer two meals a day if yer appetite ain'ttoo good. "

Nance's heart sank. It was a blow to find that Mag, who was the cleverestgirl in the finishing room, had been filing bottle necks for four years. She stole a glance at her stooped shoulders and sallow skin and thehideous, empty socket of her left eye. What was the good of becomingexpert if it only put one where Mag was?

By eleven o'clock there was a sharp pain between her shoulder-blades, andher feet ached so that she angrily kicked off first one shoe, then theother. This was the signal for a general laugh. 

"They're kiddin' you fer sheddin' yer shoes, " explained Mag, who hadlaughed louder than anybody. "Greenhorns always do it first thing. By thetime you've stepped on a piece of glass onct or twict, you'll be gladenough to climb back into 'em. "

After a while one of the girls started a song, and one by one the othersjoined in. There were numerous verses, and a plaintive refrain thatreferred to "the joy that ne'er would come again to you and I. "

When no more verses could be thought of, there were stories and doubtfuljokes which sent the girls into fits of wild laughter. 

"Oh, cheese it, " said Mag after one of these sallies, "You all orter tobehave more before these kids. "

"They don't know what we are talkin' about, " said a red-haired girl. 

"You bet I do, " said Nance, with disgust, "but you all give me a sickheadache. "

When the foreman made his rounds, figures that had begun to droop weregalvanized into fresh effort. At Mag's bench he paused. 

"How are the fillies making it?" he asked, with a familiar hand on theshoulder of each new girl. Nance's companion dropped her eyes with asimpering smile, but Nance jerked away indignantly. 

The foreman looked at the back of the shining head and frowned. 

"You'll have to push up the stroke, " he said. "Can't you see you losetime by changing your position so often? What makes you fidget so?"

Nance set her teeth resolutely and held her tongue. But her Irishinstinct always suffered from restraint and by the time the noon whistleblew, she was in a state of sullen resentment. The thought of her belovedMiss Stanley and what she would think of these surroundings brought alump into her throat. 

"Come on over here, " called Mag from a group of girls at the open window. "Don't you mind what Bean says. He's sore on any girl that won't eatouten his dirty hand. You 're as smart again as that other kid. I cantell right off if a girl's got gumption, an' if she's on the straight. 

"Chuck that Sunday-school dope, " laughed a pretty, red-haired girl namedGert. "You git her in wrong with Bean, an' I wouldn't give a nickel ferher chance. "

"You ought to know, " said Mag, drily. 

The talk ran largely to food and clothes, and Nance listened with growingdismay. It seemed that most of the girls lived in rooming houses and tooktheir meals out. 

"Wisht I had a Hamberger, " said Mag. "I ain't had a bite of meat fer amonth. I always buy my shoes with meat money. "

"I git my hats with breakfasts, " said another girl. "Fourteen breakfastsmakes a dollar-forty. I kin buy a hat fer a dollar-forty-nine that'sswell enough fer anybody. "

"I gotta have my breakfast, " said Mag. "Four cups of coffee ain'tnothin' to me. "

Gert got up and stretched herself impatiently. 

"I'm sick an' tired of hearin' you all talk about eatin'. Mag's idea ofHeaven is a place where you spend ten hours makin' money an' two eatin'it up. Some of us ain't built like that. We got to have some fun as wego along, an' we're goin' to git it, you bet your sweet life, one way orthe other. "

Soon after work was resumed, word was passed around that a big order hadcome in, and nobody was to quit work until it was made up. A ripple ofsullen comment followed this announcement, but the girls bent to theirtasks with feverish energy. 

At two o'clock the other new girl standing next to Nance grew faint, andhad to be stretched on the floor in the midst of the broken glass. 

"She's a softie!" whispered Mag to Nance. "This ain't nothin' to what itis in hot weather. "

The pain between Nance's shoulders was growing intolerable, and her cutfingers and aching feet made her long to cast herself on the floor besidethe other girl and give up the fight. But pride held her to her task. After what seemed to her an eternity she again looked at the big clockover the door. It was only three. How was she ever to endure three morehours when every minute now was an agony?

Mag heard her sigh and turned her head long enough to say:

"Hang yer arms down a spell; that kind of rests 'em. You ain't goin' toflop, too, are you?"

"Not if I can hold out. "

"I knowed you was game all right, " said Mag, with grim approval. 

By six o'clock the last bottle was packed, and Nance washed the blood anddirt off her hands and forced her swollen, aching feet into her shoes. She jerked her jacket and tam-o'-shanter from the long row of hooks, andhalf blind with weariness, joined the throng of women and girls thatjostled one another down the stairs. Every muscle of her body ached, andher whole soul was hot with rebellion. She told herself passionately thatnothing in the world could induce her to come back; she was through withfactory work forever. 

As she limped out into the yard, a totally vanquished little soldier onthe battle-field of industry, she spied Dan Lewis standing beside thetall gas-pipe, evidently waiting for somebody. He probably had asweetheart among all these trooping girls; perhaps it was the pretty, red-haired one named Gert. The thought, dropping suddenly into asurcharged heart, brimmed it over, and Nance had to sweep her fingersacross her eyes to brush away the tears. 

And then:

"I thought I'd missed you, " said Dan, quite as a matter of course, as hecaught step with her and raised her umbrella. 

Nance could have flung her tired arms about him and wept on his broadshoulder for sheer gratitude. To be singled out, like that, before allthe girls on her first day, to have a beau, a big beau, pilot her throughthe crowded streets and into Calvary Alley where all might see, wassufficient to change the dullest sky to rose and lighten the heart of themost discouraged. 

On the way home they found little to say, but Nance's aching feet fairlytripped beside those of her tall companion, and when they turned SlapJack's corner and Dan asked in his slow, deliberate way, "How do youthink you are going to like the factory?" Nance answeredenthusiastically, "Oh, I like it splendid!"

CHAPTER XIII

EIGHT TO SIX

Through that long, wet spring Nance did her ten hours a day, six days inthe week and on the seventh washed her clothes and mended them. Herbreaking in was a hard one, for she was as quick of tongue as she was offingers, and her tirades against the monotony, the high speed, and thesmall pay were frequent and vehement. Every other week when Dan was onthe night shift, she made up her mind definitely that she would stand itno longer. 

But on the alternate weeks when she never failed to find him waiting atthe gas-pipe to take her home, she thought better of it. She loved toslip in under his big cotton umbrella, when the nights were rainy, andhold to his elbow as he shouldered a way for her through the crowd; sheliked to be a part of that endless procession of bobbing umbrellas thatflowed down the long, wet, glistening street; best of all she liked thedistinction of having a "steady" and the envious glances it brought herfrom the other girls. 

Sometimes when they paused at a shop window, she caught her reflection ina mirror, and smiled approval at the bright face under the red tam. Shewondered constantly if Dan thought she was pretty and always came to theconclusion that he did not. 

From the time they left the factory until they saw the towering bulk ofthe cathedral against the dusk, Nance's chatter never ceased. Shedramatized her experiences at the factory; she gave a lively account ofthe doings of the Snawdor family; she wove tales of mystery around oldMr. Demry. She had the rare gift of enhancing every passing moment withsomething of importance and interest. 

Dan listened with the flattering homage a slow, taciturn nature oftenpays a quick, vivacious one. It was only when problems concerning thefactory were touched upon that his tongue lost its stiffness. Under anunswerving loyalty to his employers was growing a discontent with certainexisting conditions. The bad lighting system, the lack of ventilation, the employment of children under age, were subjects that rendered himeloquent. That cruel month spent in the reformatory had branded him sodeeply that he was supersensitive to the wrongs of others, and spent muchof his time in planning ways and means to better conditions. 

"Don't you ever want a good time, Dan?" Nance asked. "Don't you ever wantto sort of let go and do something reckless?"

"No; but I'll tell you what I do want. I want a' education. I've a goodmind to go to night school and try to pick up some of the things Ididn't get a chance to learn when I was a kid. "

Nance scoffed the idea; school was almost invisible to her from the giddyheight of sixteen. "Let's go on a bat, " she urged. "Let's go out and seesomething. "

So on the four following Sundays Dan took her to see the library, thereservoir, the city hall, and the jail. His ideas of recreation had notbeen cultivated. 

The time in the week to which she always looked forward was Saturdayafternoon. Then they got out early, and if the weather was fine, theywould stop in Post-Office Square and, sitting on one of the iron benches, watch the passing throng. There was something thrilling in the jostlingcrowds, and the electric signs flashing out one by one down the long gaythoroughfare. 

Post-Office Square, at the end of the day, was always littered withpapers and trash. In its center was a battered, weather kiosk, and facingit, was a huge electric advertisement which indulged in the glitteringgenerality, that "You get what you pay for. "

It was not a place to inspire romance, yet every Saturday its bencheswere crowded with boys and girls who had no place to visit except onthe street. 

Through the long spring dusks, with their tender skies and silver stars, Nance and Dan kept company, unconcerned with the past or the future, wholly content with the May-time of the present. At a word or touch fromDan, Nance's inflammable nature would have taken fire but Dan, under Mrs. Purdy's influence, was passing through an acute stage of religiousconversion, and all desires of the flesh were sternly repressed by thatnew creed to which he was making such heroic efforts to conform. With thezeal of a new convert, he considered it his duty to guard his smallcompanion against all love-making, including his own. 

Nance at an early age had developed a protective code that even withoutDan's forbidding looks and constant surveillance might have served itspurpose. Despite the high spirits and free speech that brought her somany admiring glances from the boys in the factory, it was soonunderstood that the "Molloy kid" was not to be trifled with. 

"Say, little Sister, I like your looks, " Bean had said to her one morningwhen they were alone in the hall. "It's more than I do yours, " Nance hadanswered coolly, with a critical glance at his pimply nose. 

As summer came on, the work, which at first was so difficult, graduallybecame automatic, and while her shoulders always ached, and her feet werealways tired, she ceased for the most part to think of them. It was theconfinement that told upon her, and when the long bright days came, andshe thought of Forest Home and its woods and streams, her restlessnessincreased. The stifling finishing room, the endless complaints of thegirls, and the everlasting crunching of glass under foot were at timesalmost unendurable. 

One day when the blue of the sky could not be dimmed even by factorysmoke, and the air was full of enticement, Nance slipped out at the noonhour, and, watching her chance, darted across the factory yard outthrough the stables, to the road beyond. A decrepit old elm-tree, whichhad evidently made heroic effort to keep tryst with the spring, was theone touch of green in an otherwise barren landscape. Scrambling up thebank, Nance flung herself on the ground beneath its branches, and betweenthe bites of a dry sandwich, proceeded to give vent to some of hersurplus vitality. 

"Arra, come in, Barney McKane, out of the rain, " she sang at the top ofher voice. 

 "And sit down until the moon comes out again, Sure a cup of tay I'll brew, just enough for me and you, We'll snuggle up together, and we'll talk about the weather, Do you hear? Barney dear, there's a queer Sort of feelin' round me heart, that gives me pain, And I think the likes o' me could learn to like the likes o' ye, Arra, come in, Barney McKane, out of the rain!"

So absorbed was she in trying operatic effects that she did not noticean approaching automobile until it came to a stop in the road below. 

"Hi there, Sembrich!" commanded a fresh young voice, the owner of whichemphasized his salute with his horn, "are you one of the factory kids?"

Nance rose to a sitting posture. 

"What's it to you?" she asked, instantly on the defensive. 

"I want to know if Mr. Clarke's come in. Have you seen him?"

"No, indeed, " said Nance, to whom Mr. Clarke was as vague as the Deity;then she added good-naturedly, "I'll go find out if you want me to. "

The young man shut off his engine and, transferring two strugglingpigeons from his left hand to his right, dismounted. 

"Never mind, " he said. "I'll go myself. Road's too rotten to take themachine in. " Then he hesitated, "I say, will you hold these confoundedbirds 'til I come back? Won't be gone a minute. Just want to speak to thegovernor. "

Nance scrambled down the bank and accepted the fluttering charges, thenwatched with liveliest interest the buoyant figure in the light suit goswinging up the road. There was something tantalizingly familiar in hisquick, imperious manner and his brown, irresponsible eyes. In her firstconfusion of mind she thought he must be the prince come to life out ofMr. Demry's old fairy tale. Then she caught her breath. 

"I believe it's that Clarke boy!" she thought, with rising excitement, "Iwonder if he'd remember the fight? I wonder if he'd remember me?"

She went over to the automobile and ran her fingers over the silverinitials on the door. 

"M. D. C, " she repeated. "It _is_ him! It is!"

In the excitement of her discovery she relaxed her grasp on the pigeons, and one of them escaped. In vain she whistled and coaxed; it hopped aboutin the tree overhead and then soared away to larger freedom. 

Nance was aghast at the catastrophe. She did not wait for the owner'sreturn, but rushed headlong down the road to meet him. 

"I let one of 'em go!" she cried in consternation, as he vaulted thefence and came toward her. "I wouldn't 'a' done it for anything in theworld. But I'll pay you for it, a little each week. Honest I will!"

The handsome boyish face above her clouded instantly. 

"You let it go?" he repeated furiously. "You little fool you! How didyou do it?"

Nance looked at him for a moment; then she deliberately lifted the otherpigeon as high as she could reach and opened her hand. 

"Like that!" she cried. 

Mac Clarke watched his second bird wheel into space; then his amazedglance dropped to the slim figure of the young girl in her shortgingham dress, with the sunlight shining on her hair and on her bright, defiant eyes. 

"You've got your nerve!" he said with a short laugh; then he climbed intohis car and, with several backward glances of mingled anger andamusement, drove away. 

Nance related the incident with great gusto to Dan that night onthe way home. 

"He never recognized me, but I knew him right off. Same old Smart Aleck, calling people names. "

"I was up in the office when he come in, " said Dan. "He'd been held upfor speeding and wanted his father to pay his fine. "'

"Did he do it?"

"Of course. Mac always gets what he wants. He told Bean he wasn't goingto stay at that school in Virginia if he had to make 'em expel him. Sureenough they did. Wouldn't I like to have his chance though!"

"I don't blame him for not wanting to go to school, " said Nance. Then sheadded absently, "Say, he's got to be a awful swell-looker, hasn't he?"

That night, for the first time, she objected to stopping inPost-Office Square. 

"It ain't any fun to hang around there, " she said impatiently. "I'm sickof doing tame things all the time. "

The next time Nance saw Mac Clarke was toward the close of the summer. Through the long sweltering hours of an interminable August morning shehad filed and chipped bottles with an accuracy and speed that no longergave cause for criticism. The months of confinement were beginning totell upon her; her bright color was gone, and she no longer had theenergy at the noon hour to go down the road to the elm-tree. She wantedabove all things to stretch out at full length and rest her back andrelax all those tense muscles that were so reluctantly learning to holdone position for hours at a time. 

At the noon hour she had the unexpected diversion of a visit from BirdieSmelts. Birdie had achieved her cherished ambition of going on the stage, and was now a chorus girl in the "Rag Time Follies. " Meager news of herhad reached the alley from time to time, but nobody was prepared for thevery pretty and sophisticated young person who condescended to acceptboard and lodging from her humble parents during the interval between herengagements. Nance was genuinely glad to see her and especially gratifiedby the impression her white coat-suit and black picture hat made on thefinishing room. 

"It must be grand to be on the stage, " said Gert enviously. 

"Well, it's living, " said Birdie, airily. "That's more than you canclaim for this rotten grind. "

She put a high-heeled, white-shod foot on the window ledge to adjust itsbow, and every eye in the room followed the process. 

"I bet I make more money in a week, " she continued dramatically, "thanyou all make in a month. And look at your hands! Why, they couldn't payme enough to have my hands scarred up like that!"

"It ain't my hands that's worryin' me, " said another girl. "It's my feet. Say, the destruction on your shoes is somethin' fierce! You orter seethis here room some nights at closin' time; it's that thick with glassyou don't know where to step. "

"I'd know, " said Birdie. "I'd step down and out, and don't youforget it. "

Nance had been following the conversation in troubled silence. 

"I don't mind the work so awful much, " she said restlessly. "What gets meis never having any fun. I haven't danced a step since I left ForestHome, Birdie. "

"You'd get your fill of it if you was with me, " Birdie said importantly. "Seven nights a week and two matinées. "

"'Twouldn't be any too much for me, " said Nance. "I could dance inmy sleep. "

Birdie was sitting in the window now, ostensibly examining her full redlips in a pocket-mirror, but in reality watching the factory yard below. 

"There goes your whistle!" she said, getting up suddenly. "Say, Nance, can't you scare up an excuse to hook off this afternoon? I'll take you toa show if you will!"

Nance's pulses leapt at the thought, but she shook her head and wentreluctantly back to her bench. For the next ten minutes her fingerslagged at their task, and she grew more and more discontented. All theyouth in her clamored suddenly for freedom. She was tired of being theslave of a whistle, a cog in a machine. With a sudden rash impulse shethrew down her tools and, slipping her hat from its peg, went in swiftpursuit of Birdie. 

At the foot of the narrow stairs she came to a sudden halt. Outside thedoor, in the niche made by the gas-pipe and the adjoining wall, stood MacClarke and Birdie. He had his arms about her, and there was a look in hisface that Nance had never seen in a man's face before. Of course it wasmeant for the insolent eyes under the picture hat, but instead it fell onNance standing in the doorway. For a full minute his ardent gaze held hercaptive; then he dropped his arms in sudden embarrassment, and she meltedout of the doorway and fled noiselessly up the stairway. 

On the upper landing she suffered a head-on collision with the foreman, who demanded in no gentle tones what in the devil she was doing out therewith her hat on at that hour. 

"None of your business, " said Nance, recklessly. 

Bean looked at her flashing eyes and flushed face, and laughed. Shewas the youngest girl in the factory and the only one who was notafraid of him. 

"See here, " he said, "I am going to kiss you or fire you. Which'llyou have?"

Nance dodged his outstretched hand and reached the top step. 

"You won't do neither!" she cried fiercely. "You can't fire me, because Ifired myself ten minutes ago, and I wouldn't kiss you to stay in heaven, let alone a damned old bottle factory!"

It was the Nance of the slums who spoke--the Nance whose small bare fistshad fought the world too long for the knuckles to be tender. She haddrifted a long way from the carefully acquired refinements of ForestHome, but its influence, like a dragging anchor, still sought to hold heragainst the oncoming gales of life. 

CHAPTER XIV

IDLENESS

When one has a famishing thirst for happiness, one is apt to gulp downdiversions wherever they are offered. The necessity of draining thedregs of life before the wine is savored does not cultivate adiscriminating taste. Nance saw in Birdie Smelts her one chance ofescape from the deadly monotony of life, and she seized it with bothhands. Birdie might not be approved of her seniors, but she was adisturbingly important person to her juniors. To them it seemed nothingshort of genius for a girl, born as they were in the sordid environs ofCalvary Alley, to side-step school and factory and soar away into theparadise of stage-land. When such an authority gives counsel, it is notto be ignored. Birdie's advice had been to quit the factory, and Nancehad taken the plunge without any idea of what she was going to put inits place. 

For some reason best known to herself, she never mentioned that episodein the factory yard to either Birdie or Dan Lewis. There were many thingsabout Birdie that she did not like, and she knew only too well what MissStanley would have said. But then Miss Stanley wouldn't have approved ofMr. Demry and his dope, or Mrs. Snawdor and her beer, or Mag Gist, withher loud voice and coarse jokes. When one lives in Calvary Alley, one hasto compromise; it is seldom the best or the next best one can afford, even in friends. 

When Mrs. Snawdor heard that Nance had quit work, she was furious. Whowas Nance Molloy, she wanted to know, to go and stick up her nose at aglass factory? There wasn't a bloomin' thing the matter with Clarke's. _She'd_ begun in a factory an' look at her! What was Nance a-goin' to do?Run the streets with Birdie Smelts? It was bad enough, God knew, to haveSnawdor settin' around like a tombstone, an' Fidy a-havin' a fit if youso much as looked at her, without havin' Nance eatin' 'em out of housean' home an' not bringin' in a copper cent. If she stayed at home, she'dhave to do the work; that was all there was to it!

"Anybody'd think jobs happened around as regerlar as the rent man, " sheended bitterly. "You'll see the day when you're glad enough to go back tothe factory. "

Before the month was over, Nance began to wonder if Mrs. Snawdor wasright. With unabating zeal she tramped the streets, answeringadvertisements, applying at stores, visiting agencies. But despite thefact that she unblushingly recommended herself in the highest terms, nobody seemed to trust so young and inexperienced an applicant. 

Meanwhile Birdie Smelts's thrilling prospect of joining her company atan early date threw other people's sordid possibilities into the shade. Every night she practised gymnastics and dance steps, and there beingno room in the Smelts' flat, she got into the habit of coming up toNance's room. 

One of the conditions upon which Nance had been permitted to return toCalvary Alley, was that she should not sleep in the same bed with FidyYager, a condition which enraged Mrs. Snawdor more than all the rest. 

"Annybody'd think Fidy's fits was ketchin', " she complained indignantlyto Uncle Jed. 

"That there front room of mine ain't doin' anybody no good, " suggestedUncle Jed. "We might let Nance have that. "

So to Nance's great joy she was given a big room all to herself. The slatbed, the iron wash-stand, the broken-legged chair, and the wavy mirrorwere the only articles that Mrs. Snawdor was willing to part with, butUncle Jed donated a battered stove, which despite its rust-eaten top andsagging door, still proclaimed itself a "Little Jewel". 

No bride, adorning her first abode, ever arranged her possessions withmore enthusiasm than did Nance. She scrubbed the rough floor, washed thewindows, and polished the "Little Jewel" until it shone. The first moneyshe could save out of her factory earnings had gone to settle thatfour-year-old debt to Mr. Lavinski for the white slippers; the next wentfor bedclothes and cheese-cloth window curtains. Her ambition was nolonger for the chintz hangings and gold-framed fruit pieces of Mrs. Purdy's cottage, but looked instead toward the immaculate and austerebedroom of Miss Stanley, with its "Melodonna" over the bed and a box ofblooming plants on the window-sill. 

Such an ideal of classic simplicity was foredoomed to failure. Mrs. Snawdor, like nature, abhorred a vacuum. An additional room to her was asluice in the dyke, and before long discarded pots and pans, disabledfurniture, the children's dilapidated toys, and, finally, the childrenthemselves were allowed to overflow into Nance's room. In vain Nance gotup at daybreak to make things tidy before going to work. At night whenshe returned, the washing would be hung in her room to dry, or the twinswould be playing circus in the middle of her cherished bed. 

"It's lots harder when you know how things ought to be, than when youjust go on living in the mess, and don't know the difference, " shecomplained bitterly to Birdie. 

"I've had my fill of it, " said Birdie, "I kiss my hand to the alley forgood this time. What do you reckon the fellers would think of me if theyknew I hung out in a hole like this?"

"Does he know?" asked Nance in an unguarded moment. 

"Who?"

"Mac Clarke. "

Birdie shot a glance of swift suspicion at her. 

"What's he got to do with me?" she asked coldly. 

"Ain't he one of your fellers?"

"Well, if he is, it ain't anybody's business but mine. " Then evidentlyrepenting her harshness, she added, "I got tickets to a dance-hallup-town to-night. I'll take you along if you want to look on. You wouldn'tcatch me dancing with any of those roughnecks. "

Nance found looking on an agonizing business. Not that she wanted todance with the roughnecks any more than Birdie did. Their commonexperience at Forest Home had given them certain standards of speech andmanner that lifted them just enough above their kind to be scornful. Butto sit against the wall watching other people dance was nothing short ofagony to one of Nance's temperament. 

"Come on and have a try with me, Birdie, " she implored. "I'll pay thedime. " And Birdie, with professional disdain, condescended to circle theroom with her a few times. 

That first dance was to Nance what the taste of blood is to a youngtiger. For days after she could think of nothing else. 

"Never you mind, " Birdie promised her. "When I get back on the road, I'mgoing to see what I can do for you. Somebody's always falling out of thechorus, and if you keep up this practising with me, you'll be dancing asgood as any of 'em. Ask old man Demry; he played in the orchestra lasttime we was at the Gaiety. "

But when Nance threw out a few cautious remarks to Mr. Demry, she metwith prompt discouragement:

"No, no, my dear child, " he said uneasily. "You must put that idea out ofyour head. The chorus is no place for a nice girl. "

"That's what Dan says about the factory, and what Mrs. Snawdor says abouthousework, and what somebody says about everything I start to do. Lookslike being a nice girl don't pay!"

Mr. Demry took her petulant little chin in his thin old hand, and turnedher face up to his. 

"Nancy, " he said, "these old eyes have seen a good deal over the fiddlestrings. I would rather see you go back to the glass factory, bad as itis, than to go into the chorus. "

"But I do dance as good as some of the girls, don't I, Mr. Demry?" sheteased, and Mr. Demry, whose pride in an old pupil was considerable, hadto acknowledge that she did. 

Uncle Jed's attitude was scarcely more encouraging. 

"No; I wouldn't be willin' to see you a playactor, " he said, "walkin'round in skin tights, with your face all painted up. "

Nance knew before asking that Dan would disapprove, but she couldn'tresist mentioning the matter to him. 

"That Birdie Smelts has been putting notions in your head, " he saidsternly. "I wish you'd quit runnin' with girls older than you. Besides, Birdie ain't your kind. "

"I'd like to know why?" Nance challenged him in instant loyalty to herfriend. "Besides, who else have I got to run with? Maybe you think itain't stupid drudging around home all day and never having a cent to callmy own. I want to get out and do something. "

Dan looked down at her in troubled silence. 

"Mrs. Purdy's always asking me why I don't bring you to some of themeetings at the church. They have real nice socials. "

"I don't want to pray and sing silly old hymns!" cried Nance. "I wantto dance. "

"I don't believe in dancing, " said Dan, firmly; then with a side-glanceat her unhappy face, he added, "I can't take you to the swimming school, because they don't allow girls, but I might take you to the newskating-rink some Saturday. "

In an instant Nance was all enthusiasm. 

"Will you, Dan? I'm just crazy about skating. We used to do it out at thehome. You ought to see Birdie and me do a Dutch roll. Say, let's take heralong. What do you say?"

Dan was not at all in favor of it, but Nance insisted. 

"I think we ought to be nice to Birdie on account of Mr. Smelts' stiffleg. Not that it ever did him any good when it was limber, but I alwaysfeel mean when I see it sticking out straight when he sits down. "

This was a bit of feminine wile on Nance's part, and it had the desiredeffect. Dan, always vulnerable when his sympathy was roused, reluctantlyincluded Birdie in the invitation. 

On the Saturday night appointed, the three of them set out for theskating rink. Dan, with his neck rigid in a high collar and his hairplastered close to his head, stalked somberly beside the two girls, whowalked arm in arm and giggled immoderately at each other's witticisms. 

"Wake up, Daniel!" said Birdie, giving his hat a tilt. "We engaged youfor a escort, not a pallbearer. "

The rink was in an old armory, and the musicians sat at one end of theroom on a raised platform under two drooping flags. It was dusty andnoisy, and the crowd was promiscuous, but to Nance it was Elysium. Whenshe and Birdie, with Dan between them, began to circle the big room tothe rhythm of music, her joy was complete. 

"Hullo! Dan Lewis is carrying two, " she heard some one say as theycircled past the entrance. Glancing back, she saw it was one of the boysfrom the factory. A sudden impulse seized her to stop and explain thematter to him, but instead she followed quite a contrary purpose anddetaching herself from her companions, struck out boldly for herself. 

Before she had been on the floor ten minutes people began to watch her. Her plain, neat dress setting off her trim figure, and her severe, blacksailor hat above the shining bands of fair hair, were in sharp contrastto the soiled finery and draggled plumes of the other girls. But it wasnot entirely her appearance that attracted attention. It was a certainindependent verve, a high-headed indifference, that made her reject eventhe attentions of the rink-master, a superior person boasting a pompadourand a turquoise ring. 

No one could have guessed that behind that nonchalant air Nance washiding a new and profoundly disturbing emotion. The sight of Birdie, clinging in affected terror to Dan Lewis, filled her with rage. Couldn'tDan see that Birdie was pretending? Didn't he know that she could skateby herself quite as well as he could? Never once during the evening didDan make his escape, and never once did Nance go to his rescue. 

When they were taking off their skates to go home, Birdiewhispered to her:

"I believe I got old slow-coach going. Watch me make him smoke upfor a treat!"

"No, you sha'n't, " Nance said. "Dan's spent enough on us for one night. "

"Another quarter won't break him, " said Birdie. "I'm as dry as a pieceof chalk. "

Ten minutes later she landed the little party in a drug store and enteredinto a spirited discussion with the soda-water boy as to the comparativemerits of sundry new drinks. 

"Me for a cabaret fizz, " she said. "What'll you have, Nance?"

"Nothing, " said Nance, sullenly, turning and taking up her standat the door. 

"What do you want, Dan?" persisted Birdie, adding, with a mischievouswink at the white-coated clerk, "Give him a ginger ale; he needsstimulating. "

While Birdie talked for the benefit of the clerk, and Dan sat beside her, sipping his distasteful ginger, Nance stood at the door and watched thepeople pouring out of the Gaiety Theater next door. Ordinarily thebright evening wraps, the glimpses of sparkling jewels, the gay confusionof the scene would have excited her liveliest interest, but to-night shewas too busy hating Birdie Smelts to think of anything else. What righthad she to monopolize Dan like that and order him about and laugh at him?What right had she to take his arm when they walked, or put her hand onhis shoulder as she was doing this minute?

Suddenly Nance started and leaned forward. Out there in the crowdedstreet a tall, middle-aged man, with grizzled hair and mustache, wassomewhat imperiously making way for a pretty, delicate-looking ladyenveloped in white furs, and behind them, looking very handsome andimmaculate in his evening clothes, walked Mac Clarke. 

Nance's eager eyes followed the group to the curbing; she saw the youngman glance at her with a puzzled expression; then, as he stood aside toallow the lady to enter the motor, he looked again. For the fraction of asecond their eyes held each other; then an expression of amusedrecognition sprang into his face, and Nance met it instantly with a flashof her white teeth. 

The next instant the limousine swallowed him; a door slammed, and the carmoved away. But Nance, utterly forgetful of her recent discomfort, stillstood in the door of the drug store, tingling with excitement as shewatched a little red light until it lost itself in the other movinglights on the broad thoroughfare. 

CHAPTER XV

MARKING TIME

Early in the autumn Birdie took flight from the alley, and Nance foundherself hopelessly engulfed in domestic affairs. Mr. Snawdor, who hadbeen doing the work during her long absence, took advantage of her returnto have malarial fever. He had been trying to have it for months, butcould never find the leisure hour in which to indulge in the preliminarychill. Once having tasted the joys of invalidism he was loathe to foregothem, and insisted upon being regarded as a chronic convalescent. Nancemight have managed Mr. Snawdor, however, had it not been for the graveproblem of Fidy Yager. 

"Ike Lavinski says she ought to be in a hospital some place, " she urgedMrs. Snawdor. "He says she never is going to be any better. He says it'sepilepsy. "

"Wel he ain't tellin' me anything' I don't know, " said Mrs. Snawdor, "butI ain't goin' to put her away, not if she th'ows a fit a minute!"

It was not maternal solicitude alone that prompted this declaration. TheState allowed seventy-live dollars a year to parents of epilepticchildren, and Mrs. Snawdor had found Fidy a valuable asset. Just what herbeing kept at home cost the other children was never reckoned. 

"Well, I'll take care of her on one condition, " stipulated Nance. "Yougot to keep Lobelia at school. It ain't fair for her to have to stay hometo nurse Fidy. "

"Well, if she goes to school, she's got to work at night. You was doin'your two hours at Lavinski's long before you was her age. "

"I don't care if I was. Lobelia ain't strong like me. I tell you sheain't goin' to do home finishing, not while I'm here. "

"Well, somebody's got to do it, " said Mrs. Snawdor. "You can settle itbetween you. "

Nance held out until the middle of January; then in desperation she wentback to the Lavinskis. The rooms looked just as she had left them, andthe whirring machines seemed never to have stopped. The acrid smell ofhot cloth still mingled with the odor of pickled herrings, and Mr. Lavinski still came and went with his huge bundles of clothes. 

Nance no longer sewed on buttons. She was promoted to a place under theswinging lamp where she was expected to make an old decrepitsewing-machine forget its ailments and run the same race it had run inthe days of its youth. As she took her seat on the first night, shelooked up curiously. A new sound coming regularly from the inner roommade her pause. 

"Is that a type-writer?" she asked incredulously. 

Mr. Lavinski, pushing his derby from his shining brow, smiled proudly. 

"Dat's vat it is, " he said. "My Ike, he's got a scholarship offen de highschool. He's vorking his vay through de medical college now. He'll be abig doctor some day. He vill cure my Leah. "

Nance's ambition took fire at the thought of that type-writer. Itappealed to her far more than the sewing-machine. 

"Say, Ike, " she said at her first opportunity, "I wish you'd teach me howto work it. "

"What'll you give me?" asked Ike, gravely. He had grown into a tall, thinyouth, with the spectacled eyes and stooped shoulders of a student. 

"Want me to wash the dishes for your mother?" Nance suggested eagerly. "Icould do it nights before I begin sewing. "

"Very well, " Ike agreed loftily. "We'll begin next Sunday morning at nineo'clock. Mind you are on time!"

Knowledge to Ike was sacred, and the imparting of it almost a religiousrite. He frowned down all flippancy on the part of his new pupil, anddemanded of her the same diligence and perseverance he exacted ofhimself. He not only taught her to manipulate the type-writer, but puther through an elementary course of stenography as well. 

"Certainly you can learn it, " he said sternly at her first sign ofdiscouragement. "I got that far in my second lesson. Haven't you gotany brains?"

Nance by this time was not at all sure she had, but she was not going tolet Ike know it. Stung by his smug superiority, she often sat up far intothe night, wrestling with the arbitrary signs until Uncle Jed, seeing herlight under the door, would pound on the wall for her to go to bed. 

She saw little of Dan Lewis these days. The weather no longer permittedthem to meet in Post-Office Square, and conditions even less invitingkept them from trying to see each other in Snawdor's kitchen. Sometimesshe would wait at the corner for him to come home, but this had itsdisadvantages, for there was always a crowd of loafers hanging about SlapJack's, and now that Nance was too old to stick out her tongue and callnames, she found her power of repartee seriously interfered with. 

"I ain't coming up here to meet you any more, " she declared to Dan on oneof these occasions. "I don't see why we can't go to Gorman's Chili Parlorof an evening and set down and talk to each other, right. "

"Gorman's ain't a nice place, " insisted Dan. "I wish you'd come on up tosome of the church meetings with me. I could take you lots of times ifyou'd go. "

But Nance refused persistently to be inveigled into the religious fold. The very names of Epworth League, and prayer meeting made her draw along face. 

"You don't care whether we see each other or not!" she accusedDan, hotly. 

"I do, " he said earnestly, "but it seems like I never have time foranything. The work at the factory gets heavier all the time. But I'mgetting on, Nance; they give me another raise last month. "

"Everybody's getting on, " cried Nance bitterly, "but me! You and Ike andBirdie! I work just as hard as you all do, and I haven't got a bloomingthing to show for it. What I make sewing pants don't pay for what I eat. Sometimes I think I'll have to go back to the finishing room. "

"Not if I can help it!" said Dan, emphatically. "There must be decentjobs somewhere for girls. Suppose I take you out to Mrs. Purdy's onSunday, and see if she knows of anything. She's all the time asking meabout you. "

The proposition met with little enthusiasm on Nance's part. It was Mrs. Purdy who had got Dan into the church and persuaded him not to go to thetheater or learn how to dance. It was Mrs. Purdy who took him home withher to dinner every Sunday after church and absorbed the time that usedto be hers. But the need for a job was too pressing for Nance to harborprejudices. Instead of sewing for the Lavinskis that night, she sewed forherself, trying to achieve a costume from the old finery bequeathed herby Birdie Smelts. 

You would scarcely have recognized Dan that next Sunday in his best suit, with his hair plastered down, and a very red tie encircling a very highcollar. To be sure Dan's best was over a year old, and the brown-stripedshirt-front was not what it seemed, but his skin was clean and clear, andthere was a look in his earnest eyes that bespoke an untroubledconscience. 

Mrs. Purdy received them in her cozy fire-lit sitting-room and made Nancesit beside her on the sofa, while she held her hand and looked with mildsurprise at her flaring hat and cheap lace collar. 

"Dan didn't tell me, " she said, "how big you had grown or--or howpretty. "

Nance blushed and smiled and glanced consciously at Dan. She had feltdubious about her costume, but now that she was reassured, she began toimitate Birdie's tone and manner as she explained to Mrs. Purdy theobject of her visit. 

"Deary me!" said Mrs. Purdy, "Dan's quite right. We can't allow a nicelittle girl like you to work in a glass factory! We must find some nicegenteel place for you. Let me see. "

In order to see Mrs. Purdy shut her eyes, and the next moment she openedthem and announced that she had the very thing. 

"It's Cousin Lucretia Bobinet!" she beamed. "She is looking for acompanion. "

"What's that?" asked Nance. 

"Some one to wait on her and read to her and amuse her. She's quiteadvanced in years and deaf and, I'm afraid, just a little peculiar. "

"I'm awful good at taking care of sick people, " said Nance complacently. 

"Cousin Lucretia isn't ill. She's the most wonderfully preserved womanfor her years. But her maid, that she's had for so long, is getting oldtoo. Why, Susan must be seventy. She can't see to read any more, and shemakes mistakes over cards. By the way, I wonder if you know how to playcard games. "

"Sure, " said Nance. "Poker? seven-up?"

"Isn't there another game called penuchle?" Mrs. Purdy ventured, evidently treading unfamiliar ground. 

"Yes!" cried Nance. "That's Uncle Jed's game. We used to play it heapsbefore Rosy cut up the queens for paper dolls. "

"Now isn't it too wonderful that you should happen to know thatparticular game?" said Mrs. Purdy, with the gentle amazement of one whosees the finger of Providence in everything. "Not that I approve ofplaying cards, but Cousin Lucretia was always a bit worldly minded, andplaying penuchle seems to be the chief diversion of her declining years. How old are you, my child?"

"I'm seventeen. And I ain't a bit afraid of work, am I, Dan?"

"I am sure you are not, " said Mrs. Purdy. "Dan often tells me what a finegirl you are. Only we wish you would come to some of our services. Dan isgetting to be one of our star members. So conscientious and regular! Wecall him our model young man. "

"I expect it's time we was going, " said Dan, greatly embarrassed. Butowing to the fact that he wanted very much to be a gentleman, and didn'tquite know how, he stayed on and on, until Nance informed him it waseleven o'clock. 

At the door Mrs. Purdy gave final instructions about the new position, adding in an undertone:

"It might be just as well, dearie, for you to wear a plainer dress whenyou apply for the place, and I believe--in fact I am quite sure--CousinLucretia would rather you left off the ear-rings. "

"Ain't ear-rings stylish?" asked Nance, feeling that she had beenmisinformed. 

"Not on a little companion, " said Mrs. Purdy gently. 

Nance's elation over the prospect of a job was slightly dashed bythe idea of returning to the wornout childish garb in which she hadleft the home. 

"Say, Dan, " she said, as they made their way out of Butternut Lane, "doyou think I've changed so much--like Mrs. Purdy said?"

"You always look just the same to me, " Dan said, as he helped her on withher coat and adjusted the collar with gentle, painstaking deference. 

She sighed. The remark to a person who ardently desired to look differentwas crushing. 

"I think Mrs. Purdy's an awful old fogey!" she said petulantly by way ofventing her pique. 

Dan looked at her in surprise, and the scowl that rarely came nowdarkened his face. 

"Mrs. Purdy is the best Christian that ever lived, " he said shortly. 

"Well, she ain't going to be a Christian offen me!" said Nance. 

The next morning, in a clean, faded print, and a thin jacket, much toosmall for her, Nance went forth to find Miss Lucretia Bobinet in CemeteryStreet. It was a staid, elderly street, full of staid, elderly houses, and at its far end were visible the tall white shafts which gave it itsname. At the number corresponding to that on Nance's card, she rang thebell. The door was opened by a squinting person who held one hand behindher ear and with the other grasped the door knob as if she feared itmight be stolen. 

"Who do you want to see?" she wheezed. 

"Miss Bobinet. "

"Who?"

"Miss Bobinet!" said Nance, lifting her voice. 

"Stop that hollering at me!" said the old woman. "Who sent you here?"

"Mrs. Purdy. "

"What for?"

Nance explained her mission at the top of her voice and was grudginglyadmitted into the hall. 

"You ain't going to suit her. I can tell you that, " said the squint-eyedone mournfully, "but I guess you might as well go in and wait until shewakes up. Mind you don't bump into things. "

Nance felt her way into the room indicated and cautiously let herselfdown into the nearest chair. Sitting facing her was an imposing oldlady, with eyes closed and mouth open, making the most alarming noisesin her throat. She began with a guttural inhalation that increased inferocity until it broke in a violent snort, then trailed away in aprolonged and somewhat plaintive whistle. Nance watched her withamazement. It seemed that each recurrent snort must surely send the oldwrinkled head, with its elaborately crimped gray wig, rolling away underthe stiff horse-hair sofa. 

The room was almost dark, but the light that managed to creep in showed agloomy black mantelpiece, with vases of immortelles, and somber walnutchairs with crocheted tidies that made little white patches here andthere in the dusk. Everything smelled of camphor, and from one of thecorners came the slow, solemn tick of a clock. 

After Nance had recovered from her suspense about Miss Bobinet's head, and had taken sufficient note of the vocal gymnastics to be able toreproduce them later for the amusement of the Snawdors, she began toexperience great difficulty in keeping still. First one foot went tosleep, then the other. The minutes stretched to an hour. She had hurriedoff that morning without her breakfast, leaving everything at sixes andsevens, and she wanted to get back and clean up before Mrs. Snawdor gotup. She stirred restlessly, and her chair creaked. 

The old lady opened one eye and regarded her suspiciously. 

"I am Nance Molloy, " ventured the applicant, hopefully. "Mrs. Purdy sent me. "

Miss Bobinet gazed at her in stony silence, then slowly closed her eye, and took up her snore exactly where she had left it off. This took placethree times before she succeeded in getting her other eye open andbecoming aware of Nance's presence. 

"Well, well, " she asked testily, in a dry cracked voice, "what are yousitting there staring at me for?"

Nance repeated her formula several times before she remembered thatMiss Bobinet was deaf; then she got up and shouted it close to the oldlady's ear. 

"Lida Purdy's a fool, " said Miss Bobinet, crossly. "What do I want witha chit of a girl like you?"

"She thought I could wait on you, " screamed Nance, "and read to you andplay penuchle. " The only word that got past the grizzled fringe thatbordered Miss Bobinet's shriveled ear was the last one. 

"Penuchle?" she repeated. "Can you play penuchle?"

Nance nodded. 

"Get the table, " ordered the old lady, peremptorily. 

Nance tried to explain that she had not come to stay, that she would gohome, and get her things and return in the afternoon, but Miss Bobinetwould brook no delay. Without inviting Nance to remove her hat andjacket, she ordered her to lift the shade, sit down, and deal the cards. 

They were still playing when the squinting person hobbled in with aluncheon tray, and Miss Bobinet promptly transferred her attention fromroyal marriages to oyster stew. 

"Have her come back at three, " she directed Susan; then seeing Nance'seyes rest on the well filled tray, she added impatiently, "Didn't I tellyou to stop staring? Any one would think you were watching the animalsfeed in the zoo. "

Nance fled abashed. The sight of the steaming soup, the tempting bird, and dainty salad had made her forget her manners. 

"I reckon I'm engaged, " she said to Mrs. Snawdor, when she reachedhome and had cut herself a slice of dry bread to eat with thewarmed-over coffee. "She never said what the pay was to be, but shesaid to come back. "

"What does she look like?" asked Mrs. Snawdor, curiously. 

"A horse, " said Nance. "And she's deaf as anything. If I stay with her, she'll have to get her an ear-trumpet or a new wig before the month'sout. I swallow a curl every time I speak to her. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Snawdor, "companions ain't in my line, but I got senseenough to know that when a woman's so mean she's got to pay somebody tokeep her company, the job ain't no cinch. "

CHAPTER XVI

MISS BOBINET'S

Nance's new duties, compared with those at the bottle factory, and thesweat-shop seemed, at first, mere child's play. She arrived at eighto'clock, helped Susan in the basement kitchen, until Miss Bobinet awoke, then went aloft to officiate at the elaborate process of that lady'stoilet. For twenty years Susan had been chief priestess at this ceremony, but her increasing deafness infuriated her mistress to such an extentthat Nance was initiated into the mysteries. The temperature of the bath, the choice of underclothing, the method of procedure were matters of theutmost significance, and the slightest mistake on the part of theassistant brought about a scene. Miss Bobinet would shriek at Susan, andSusan would shriek back; then both would indulge in scathing criticism ofthe other in an undertone to Nance. 

The final rite was the most critical of all. Miss Bobinet would sitbefore her dresser with a towel about her neck, and take a long breath, holding it in her puffed-out cheeks, while rice powder was dusted overthe corrugated surface of her face. She held the theory that this openedthe pores of the skin and allowed them to absorb the powder. The sight ofthe old lady puffed up like a balloon was always too much for Nance, andwhen she laughed, Miss Bobinet was obliged to let her breath go in asharp reprimand, and the performance had to start all over again. 

"You laugh too much anyhow, " she complained irritably. 

When the toilet and breakfast were over, there followed two whole hoursof pinochle. Nance came to regard the queen of spades and the jack ofdiamonds with personal animosity. Whatever possible interest she mighthave taken was destroyed by the fact that Miss Bobinet insisted uponwinning two out of every three games. It soon became evident that whileshe would not cheat on her own behalf, she expected her opponent to cheatfor her. So Nance dutifully slipped her trump cards back in the deck andforgot to declare while she idly watched the flash of diamonds on thewrinkled yellow hands, and longed for the clock to strike the next hour. 

At lunch she sat in the kitchen opposite Susan and listened to a recitalof that melancholy person's woes. Susan and her mistress, being mutuallydependent, had endured each other's exclusive society for close upontwenty years. The result was that each found the other the moststimulating of all subjects of conversation. When Nance was not listeningto tirades against Susan up-stairs, she was listening to bittercomplaints against Miss Bobinet down-stairs. 

In the afternoon she was expected to read at the top of her voice from"The Church Guide, " until Miss Bobinet got sleepy; then it was her dutyto sit motionless in the stuffy, camphor-laden room, listening to anendless succession of vocal gymnastics until what time the old lady sawfit to wake up. 

If Nance had been a provident young person, she might have improved thoseidle hours during that interminable winter by continuing her study ofstenography. But, instead, she crouched on the floor by the window, holding her active young body motionless, while her thoughts likedistracted imprisoned things flew round their solid walls of facts, frantically seeking some loophole of escape. Day after day she crouchedthere, peeping out under the lowered shade with hungry eyes. The drearystreet below offered no diversion; sometimes a funeral procession draggedits way past, but for the most part there was nothing to see save anoccasional delivery wagon or a staid pedestrian. 

She was at that critical time of transition between the romance ofchildhood, when she had become vaguely aware of the desire of the spirit, and the romance of youth, when she was to know to the full the desiresof the flesh. It was a period of sudden, intense moods, followed byspells of languor. Something new and strange and incommunicable wasfermenting within her, and nothing was being done to direct thosemysterious forces. She was affectionate, with no outlet for heraffection; romantic, with nothing for romance to feed upon. 

The one resource lay in the bookcase that rose above the old-fashionedsecretary in Miss Bobinet's front hall. She had discovered it on the dayof her arrival and, choosing a volume at random, had become so engrossedin the doings of one of Ouida's heroes, that she had failed to hear MissBobinet's call. From that time on she was forbidden to take any booksaway from the bookcase, an order which she got around by standing besideit and eagerly devouring bits at a time. 

The monotony of the days she might have endured if there had been anyrelief at the close of them. But when she returned home there was alwaysendless work to be done. Her four years' absence at Forest Home hadseparated her from the young people she had known, and she had had notime to make new friends. The young bar-keeper at Slap Jack's, who alwayswatched for her to pass in the morning, the good-looking delivery boy whosometimes brought parcels to Cemetery Street, the various youths withwhom she carried on casual flirtations on her way to and from work, wereher nearest approach to friends. 

Dan, to be sure, still came for her every Saturday afternoon, butCemetery Street was across the city from Clarke's, and their timetogether was short. Nance lived for these brief interviews, and then cameaway from them more restless and dissatisfied than before. Dan didn'tlook or talk or act like the heroes in the novels she was reading. Henever "rained fervent kisses on her pale brow, " or told her that she was"the day-star of his secret dreams. " Instead he talked of eight-hourlaws, and minimum wage, and his numerous church activities. He wassleeping at Mrs. Purdy's now, looking after the place while she was awaywith her brother, and Nance was jealous of his new interests and newopportunities. 

As the long weeks stretched into long months, her restlessness grew intorebellion. So this was the kind of job, she told herself bitterly, thatnice girls were supposed to hold. This was what Miss Stanley and Mrs. Purdy and Mr. Demry approved. But they were old. They had forgotten. DanLewis wasn't old. Why couldn't he understand? What right had he to insistupon her sticking it out when he knew how lonesome and unhappy she was?Dan didn't care, that was the trouble; he thought more of his old churchand the factory than he thought of her. 

She remembered, with sudden understanding, what red-haired Gert had saidin the finishing room; some people weren't content with a good job; theyhad to have a good time with it. She told herself that she was one ofthese; she wanted to be good and do what was expected of her; she wantedfervently to please Dan Lewis, but she couldn't go on like this, shecouldn't, she couldn't!

And yet she did. With a certain dogged commonsense, she stayed at herpost, suppressing herself in a thousand ways, stifling her laughter, smothering the song on her lips, trying to make her prancing feet keeppace with the feeble steps of age. She lived through each day on themeager hope that something would happen at the end of it, that elusive"something" that always waits around the corner for youth, with adventurein one hand and happiness in the other and limitless promise in itsshining eyes. 

Almost a year crawled by before her hope was realized. Then one Tuesdaymorning as she was coming to work, she spied a bill poster announcingthe appearance of the "Rag-Time Follies. " Rows upon rows of saucy girlsin crimson tights and gauzy wings smiled down upon her, smiled andseemed to beckon. 

Since Birdie's departure from the alley, eighteen months ago, Nance hadheard no word of her. Long ago she had given up the hope of escape inthat direction. But the knowledge that she was in the city and thepossibility of seeing her, wakened all manner of vague hopes and excitingpossibilities. 

Whatever happened Nance must see the play! She must be on hand to-morrownight when the curtain went up; perhaps she could wait outside forBirdie, and speak to her after the performance!

If only Dan would take her, and they could sit together and share thefun! But the very thought of Dan in connection with those frisky girlsmade her smile. No; if she went, she would have to go alone. 

The all-important question now was how to get the ticket. Miss Bobinetcould never be induced to advance a penny on the week's wages, and Susan, while ready to accept financial favors, was adamant when it came toextending them. 

By six o'clock Nance had exhausted every resource but one. On her wayhome she visited a small shop which was all too familiar to the residentsof Calvary Alley. When she emerged, the beloved locket, which usuallydangled on the velvet ribbon around her neck, was no longer there, buttied in the corner of her handkerchief was a much desired silver coin. 

In high spirits she rushed home only to be confronted on the threshold bya serious domestic complication. Mrs. Snawdor, with her hat on, wasstanding by the bed in the dark inside room that used to be Nance's, futilely applying a mustard plaster to whatever portion of Fidy'sanatomy happened to be exposed. 

"How long has she been like this?" cried Nance, flinging her jacket offand putting the tea kettle on the stove. 

"Lord knows, " said Mrs. Snawdor in a tone that implied a conspiracy onthe part of poor Fidy and her Maker to interfere with her plans. "When Icome in ten minutes ago, she was tryin' to eat the sheet. "

"Didn't you give her the medicine the doctor left last time?"

"There ain't a drop left. Mr. Snawdor took every bit of it. "

"Where's the bottle? We must get it filled. "

"What's the use? It ain't no good. I was handlin' Fidy's fits before thatthere young dispensary doctor was out of knee pants. Besides I ain't gotfifty cents in the house. "

Nance stood for a moment irresolute. She looked at the writhing figure onthe bed; then she snatched up her hat and jacket. 

"Quick! Where's the bottle?" she cried. "I got the money. "

But after the medicine had been bought, and Fidy had grown quiet underits influence, Nance went across the hall to her own cold, barren roomand flung herself across her narrow bed. The last chance of seeing theplay had vanished. The only light of hope that had shone on her horizonfor months had gone out. 

When she got up, cold and miserable, and lighted the gas, she saw onthe floor, where it had evidently been slipped under the door, amysterious pink envelope. Tearing it open, she found, written in alarge, loose scrawl:

"Dear Nance. We have just struck town. Reckon you thought I was aquitter, but I ain't. You be at the Gaiety to-morrow morning at nine A. M. Maybe I can land you something. Don't say a word to anybody about it, andmake yourself look as pretty as you can, and don't be late. Don't tell myfolks I'm here. I got a room down-town. 

"Bye bye, "B. S. "

Nance's breath caught in her throat. The bubble was so radiant, sofragile, so unbelievable, that she was afraid to stir for fear ofbreaking it. She waited until she heard Mrs. Snawdor's heavy feetdescending the stairs, and then she crept across the hall and sat on theside of Fidy's bed, waiting to give her the next dose of medicine. Hereyes were fixed on the bare lathes over the headboard where she had onceknocked the plaster off tacking up a tomato-can label. But she did notsee the hole or the wall. Calvary Alley and Cemetery Street had ceased toexist for her. She was already transported to a region of warmth andgaiety and song. All that was ugly and old and sordid lay behind her, and she told herself, with a little sob of joy, that at last thebeautiful something for which she had waited so long was about to happen. 

CHAPTER XVII

BEHIND THE TWINKLING LIGHTS

The gaiety, with its flamboyant entrance, round which the lights flaredenticingly at night, had always seemed to Nance an earthly paradise intowhich the financially blessed alone were privileged to enter. At the"Star" there were acrobats and funny Jews with big noses and Irishmen whowere always falling down; but the Gaiety was different. Twice Nance hadpassed that fiery portal, and she knew that once inside, you drifted intostates of beatitude, which eternity itself was too short to enjoy. Theworld ceased to exist for you, until a curtain, as relentless as fate, descended, and you reached blindly for your hat and stumbled down fromthe gallery to the balcony, and from the balcony to the lobby, and thenceout into the garish world, dazed, bewildered, unreconciled to reality, and not knowing which way to turn to go home. 

But to-day as she passed the main entrance and made her way through aside-passage to the stage-door, she tingled with a keener thrill than shehad ever felt before. 

"Is Miss Smelts here?" she asked a man who was going in as she did. 

"Smelts?" he repeated. "What does she do?"

"She dances. "

He shook his head. 

"Nobody here by that name, " he said, and hurried on. 

Nance stood aside and waited, with a terrible sinking of the heart. Shewaited a half hour, then an hour, while people came and went. Just as shewas about to give up in despair, she saw a tall, handsome girl hurry upthe steps and come toward her. She had to look twice before she couldmake sure that the imposing figure was Birdie. 

"Hello, kid, " was Birdie's casual greeting. "I forgot all about you. Justas cute looking as ever, eh! Where did you get that hat?"

"Ten-cent store, " said Nance, triumphantly. 

"Can you beat that?" said Birdie. "You always did have a style about you. But your hair's fixed wrong. Come on down to the dressing-room while Ichange. I'll do it over before you see Reeser. "

Nance followed her across a barn of a place where men in shirt-sleeveswere dragging scenes this way and that. 

"Mind the steps; they are awful!" warned Birdie, as they descended into agas-lit region partitioned off into long, low dressing-rooms. 

"Here's where I hang out. Sit down and let me dude you up a bit. Youalways did wear your hair too plain. I'll fix it so's it will make littlePeroxide Pierson green with envy. "

Nance sat before the mirror and watched Birdie's white fingers roll andtwist her shining hair into the elaborate style approved at the moment. 

"Gee! it looks like a horse-collar!" she said, laughing at herreflection. "What you going to do to me next?"

"Well, I haven't got much to do on, " said Birdie, "but you just wait tillI get you over to my room! I could fit you out perfect if you were just acouple of sizes bigger. "

She was putting on a pair of bloomers herself as she spoke, and slippingher feet into her dancing slippers, and Nance watched every movement withadmiring eyes. 

"Come on now, " Birdie said hurriedly. "We got to catch Reeser beforerehearsal. He's the main guy in this company. What Reeser says goes. "

At the head of the steps they encountered a gaunt, raw-boned man, with anangular, expressive face, and an apple in his long neck that would haveembarrassed Adam himself. 

"Well! Well!" he shouted at them, impatiently, "come on or else go back!Don't stand there in the way. "

"Mr. Reeser, please, just a minute, " called Birdie, "It's a new girlwants to get in the chorus. "

The stage-manager paused and looked her over with a critical eye. 

"Can she sing?"

"No, " said Nance, "but I can dance. Want to see me?"

"Well, I think I can live a few minutes without it, " said Reeser dryly. "Ever been on before?"

"No; but everybody's got to start some time. " Then she added with asmile, "I wish you'd give me a chance. "

"She's a awful cute little dancer, " Birdie recommended. "She knows allthe steps in the Red-Bird chorus. I taught her when I was here before. If you'd say a word to Mr. Pulatki he might try her out at rehearsalthis morning. "

Nance held her breath while Reeser's quizzical eyes continued tostudy her. 

"All right!" he said suddenly. "She's pretty young, but we'll see whatshe can do. Now clear the way. Lower that drop a little, boys. Hurry upwith the second set. "

The girls scurried away to the wings where they found a narrow space inwhich Nance was put through the half-forgotten steps. 

"It's all in the team work, " Birdie explained. "You do exactly what I do, and don't let old Spagetti rattle you. He goes crazy at every rehearsal. Keep time and grin. That's all there is to it"

"I can do it!" cried Nance radiantly. "It's easy as breathing!"

But it proved more difficult than she thought, when in a pair of propertybloomers she found herself one of a party of girls advancing, retreating, and wheeling at the arbitrary command of an excitable little man in hisshirt-sleeves, who hammered out the time on a rattling piano. 

Pulatki was a nervous Italian with long black hair and a drooping blackmustache, both of which suffered harsh treatment in moments of dramaticfrenzy. His business in life was to make forty lively, mischievous girlsmove and sing as one. The sin of sins to him, in a chorus girl, wasindividuality. 

"You! new girl!" he screamed the moment he spied Nance, "you are outof ze line. Hold your shoulders stiff, so! Ah, _Dio!_ Can you not movewiz ze rest?"

The girls started a stately number, diagonal from down-stage left towardupper center. 

"Hold ze pose!" shouted the director. Then he scrambled up on the stageand seized Nance roughly by the arm. "You are too quick!" he shouted. "You are too restless. We do not want that you do a solo! Can you notkeep your person still?"

And to Nance's untold chagrin she found that she could not. The momentthe music started, it seemed to get into her tripping feet, her swingingarms, her nodding head; and every extra step and unnecessary gesture thatshe made evoked a storm from the director. 

Just when his irritation was at his height, Reeser joined him fromthe wings. 

"Here's a howdy-do!" he exclaimed. "Flossy Pierson's sprained her ankle. "

"Ze leetle bear?" shrieked Pulatki; then he clutched his hair in bothhands and raved maledictions on the absent Flossy. 

"See here, " said Reeser, "this is no time for fireworks. Who in the devilis to take her place?"

"Zere is none, " wailed Pulatki. "She make her own part. I cannotteach it. "

"It's not the part that bothers me, " said Reeser. "It's the costume. We've got to take whoever will fit it. Who's the smallest girl inthe chorus?"

The eyes of the two men swept the double column of girls until theyrested on the one head that, despite its high coiffure, failed to achievethe average height. 

"Come here!" called Reeser to Nance. 

"But, no!" protested the director, throwing up his hands. "She isimpossible. A cork on ze water! A leaf in ze wind! I cannot teach her. Ivill not try!"

"It's too late to get anybody else for to-night, " said Reeser, impatiently. "Let her walk through the part, and we'll see what can bedone in the morning. " Then seeing Nance's indignant eyes on the director, he added with a comical twist of his big mouth, "Want to be a bear?"

"Sure!" said Nance, with spirit, "if the Dago can't teach me to dance, maybe he can teach me to growl. "

The joke was lost upon the director, but it put Reeser into such a goodhumor that he sent her down to the dressing-room to try on the costume. Ten minutes later, a little bear, awkward but ecstatic, scrambled madlyup the steps, and an excited voice called out:

"Look, Mr. Reeser, it fits! it fits!"

For the rest of the morning Nance practised her part, getting used tothe clumsy suit of fur, learning to adjust her mask so that she couldsee through the little, round, animal eyes, and keeping the other girlsin a titter of amusement over her surreptitious imitation of theirascible Pulatki. 

When the rehearsal was over there was much good-natured hustling andraillery as the girls changed into their street costumes. At Birdie'sinvitation Nance went with her to the rooming-house around the corner, where you had to ring a bell to get in, a convention which in itselfspelt elegance, and up one flight, two flights, three flights ofcarpeted steps to a front-hall bedroom on the fourth floor. 

"Gee, it's a mess!" said Birdie, tossing some beribboned lingerie from achair into an open trunk. "There's a bag of rolls around here some place. We can make some tea over the gas. "

Nance darted from one object to another with excited cries of admiration. Everything was sweet and wonderful and perfectly grand! Suddenly she cameto a halt before the dresser, in the center of which stood a large, framed photograph. 

"That's my High Particular, " said Birdie, with an uneasy laugh, "recognize him?"

"It's Mac Clarke!" exclaimed Nance, incredulously, "how on earth did youever get his picture?"

"He give it to me. How do you reckon? I hadn't laid eyes on him for acouple of years 'til I ran across him in New York about a month ago. "

"Where'd you see him?"

"At the theater. He come in with a bunch of other college fellows andrecognized me straight off. He stayed in New York two or three days, andmaybe we didn't have a peach of a time! Only he got fired from collegefor it when he went back. "

"Where's he now?"

"Here in town. Liable to blow in any minute. If he does, you don't wantto let on you ever saw him before. He won't remember you if you don'tremind him. He never thinks of anybody twice. "

Nance, poring over every detail of the photograph, held her own counsel. She was thinking of the night she had stood in the drug-store door, andhe had kept the motor waiting while he smiled at her over his shoulder. That was a smile that remembered!

"You want to be careful what you say to anybody, " Birdie continued, "there ain't any use airing it around where you live, or what you beendoing. There ain't a girl in the chorus knows my real name, or where Icome from. "

The allusion to home stirred Nance's conscience, and reminded her thatover there beyond the cathedral spire, dimly visible from the window, laya certain little alley which still had claims upon her. 

"I ain't said a thing to 'em at home about this, " she said. "Suppose theydon't let me do it?"

"Let nothing!" said Birdie. "Write a note to Mrs. Snawdor, and tell heryou are spending the night down-town with me. You'll know by morningwhether Reeser is going to take you on or not. If he does, you just wantto announce the fact that you are going, and go. "

Nance looked at her with kindling eyes. This high-handed method appealedto her. After all wasn't she past eighteen? Birdie hadn't been that oldwhen she struck out for herself. 

"What about Miss Bobinet?" she asked ruefully. 

"The wiggy old party up in Cemetery Street? Let her go hang. You'veswallowed her frizzes long enough. "

Nance laughed and gave the older girl's arm a rapturous squeeze. "And youthink maybe Mr. Reeser'll take me on?" she asked for the sixteenth time. 

"Well, Flossie Pierson has been shipped home, and they've got to putsomebody in her place. It's no cinch to pick up a girl on the road, just the right size, who can dance even as good as you can. If Reeserengages you, it's fifteen per for the rest of the season, and a goodchance for next. "

"All right, here goes!" cried Nance, recklessly, seizing paper and pen. 

When the hard rolls and strong tea which composed their lunch had beendisposed of, Nance curled herself luxuriously on the foot of the bed andmunched chocolate creams, while Birdie, in a soiled pink kimono thatdisplayed her round white arms and shapely throat, lay stretched besideher. They found a great deal to talk about, and still more to laughabout. Nance loved to laugh; all she wanted was an excuse, and everythingwas an excuse to-day; Birdie's tales of stage-door Johnnies, the recentire of old Spagetti, her own imitation of Miss Bobinet and the ossifiedSusan. Nance loved the cozy intimacy of the little room; even the heavyodor of perfumes and cosmetics was strange and fascinating; she thoughtBirdie was the prettiest girl she had ever seen. A thrilling vista ofdays like this, spent with her in strange and wonderful cities, openedbefore her. 

"I'll rig you up in some of my clothes, until you get your first pay, "Birdie offered, "then we can fit you out right and proper. You got themaking of an awful pretty girl in you. "

Nance shrieked her derision. Her own charms, compared with Birdie'sgenerous ones, seemed absurdly meager, as she watched the older girl blowrings from the cigarette which she held daintily between her first andsecond finger. 

Nance had been initiated into smoking and chewing tobacco before she wasten, but neither appealed to her. Watching Birdie smoke, she had a suddendesire to try it again. 

"Give us a puff, Birdie, " she said. 

Birdie tossed the box over and looked at her wrist-watch. 

"We ought to be fixing something for you to wear to-night, " shesaid. "Like as not Mac and Monte 'll turn up and ask us to gosomewhere for supper. "

"Who is Monte?" asked Nance with breathless interest. 

"He's a fat-headed swell Mac runs with. Spends dollars like nickels. Norarebit and beer for him; it's champagne and caviar every time. Youcotton to him, Nance; he'll give you anything you want. "

"I don't want him to give me anything, " said Nance stoutly. "Time I'mearning fifteen dollars a week, I'll be making presents myself. "

Birdie lifted her eyebrows and sighed. 

"You funny kid!" she said, "you got a heap to learn. "

During the early part of the afternoon the girls shortened one ofBirdie's dresses and tacked in its folds to fit Nance's slender figure. Birdie worked in fits and starts; she listened every time anythingstopped in the street below, and made many trips to the window. By and byher easy good humor gave place to irritability. At five o'clock she puton her hat, announcing that she had to go over to the drug store to dosome telephoning. 

"Lock the door, " she counseled, "and if anybody knocks while I'm gone, don't answer. "

Nance, left alone, sewed on for a while in a flutter of happy thoughts;then she got up and turned her chair so she would not have to crane herneck to see the photograph on the dresser. 

"The making of an awful pretty girl!" she whispered; then she got up andwent over to the mirror. Pulling out the hairpins that held theelaborate puffs in place, she let her shining mass of hair about hershoulders and studied her face intently. Her mouth, she decided, was toobig, her eyes too far apart, her neck too thin. Then she made a face atherself and laughed:

"Who cares?" she said. 

By and by it got too dark to sew; the match box refused to be found, andshe decided it was time to stop anyhow. She opened the window and, gailyhumming the music of the Little Bear dance, leaned across the sill, whilethe cool evening air fanned her hot cheeks. 

Far away in the west, over the housetops, she could see the stately spireof the cathedral, a brown silhouette against a pale, lemon sky. Downbelow, through the dull, yellow dusk, faint lights were already definingthe crisscross of streets. The whispers of the waking city came up toher, eager, expectant, like the subdued murmur of a vast audience justbefore the curtain ascends. Then suddenly, written on the twilight inletters of fire, came the familiar words, "You get what you pay for. "

Nance's fingers ceased to drum on the window-sill. It was the big signfacing Post-Office Square, old Post-Office Square, with its litter ofpapers, its battered weather kiosk, and the old green bench where she andDan had sat so many evenings on their way home from the factory. Dan! Awave of remorse swept over her. She had forgotten him as completely as ifhe had never existed. And now that she remembered what was she to do? Goto him and make a clean breast of it? And run the risk of having himinvoke the aid of Mrs. Purdy and possibly of Miss Stanley? Not that shewas afraid of their stopping her. She repeated to herself the words ofdefiance with which she would meet their objections and the scorn whichshe would fling at their "nice girl jobs. " No; it was Dan himself she wasafraid of. Her imagination quailed before his strong, silent face, andhis deep, hurt eyes. She had always taken Dan's part in everything, andsomething told her she would take it now, even against herself. 

The only safe course was to keep away from him, until the great step wastaken, and then write him a nice long letter. The nicest she had everwritten to anybody. Dear old Dan--dear, dear old Dan. 

A long, low whistle from the sidewalk opposite made her start, and lookdown. At first no one was visible; then a match was struck, flared yellowfor a second, and went out, and again that low, significant whistle. Nance dropped on her knees beside the window and watched. A man's figureemerged from the gloom and crossed the street. A moment later she heardthe ringing of the doorbell. Could Dan have heard of her escapade andcome after her? But nobody knew where she was; the note to Mrs. Snawdorstill lay on the corner of the dresser. 

She heard a step on the stairs, then three light taps on the door. Shescrambled to her feet before she remembered Birdie's caution, then stoodmotionless, listening. 

Again the taps and, "I say, Bird!" came in a vibrant whisper fromwithout. 

It seemed to Nance that whoever it was must surely hear the noisybeating of her heart. Then she heard the steps move away and she sighedwith relief. 

Birdie, coming in later, dismissed the matter with gay denial. 

"One of your pipe-dreams, Nance! It must have been one of the otherboarders, or the wash woman. Stop your mooning over there by the windowand get yourself dressed; we got just thirty-five minutes to get down tothe theater. "

Nance shook off her misgivings and rushed headlong into her adventure. Itwas no time to dream of Dan and the letter she was going to write him, orto worry about a disturbing whistle in the street, or a mysteriouswhisper on the other side of the door. Wasn't it enough that she, NanceMolloy, who only yesterday was watching funerals crawl by in CemeteryStreet, was about to dance to real music, on a real stage, before a greataudience? She had taken her first mad plunge into the seething current oflife, and in these first thrilling, absorbing moments she failed to seethe danger signals that flashed across the darkness. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE FIRST NIGHT

At a quarter-past eight in the dressing-rooms of the Gaiety, pandemoniumreigned. Red birds, fairies, gnomes, will-o'-the-wisps flitted about, begging, borrowing, stealing articles from each other in good-humoredconfusion. In and out among them darted the little bear, slapping at eachpasserby with her furry paws, practising steps on her cushioned toes, andrushing back every now and then to Birdie, who stood before a mirror inred tights, with a towel around her neck, putting the final touches onher make-up. 

It was hot and stuffy, and the air reeked with grease paint. There was aperpetual chatter with occasional outbursts of laughter, followed byperemptory commands of "Less noise down there!" In the midst of thehub-bub a call-boy gave the signal for the opening number of the chorus;the chatter and giggling ceased, and the bright costumes settled into adefinite line as the girls filed up the stairs. 

Nance, left alone, sat on a trunk and waited for her turn in a fever ofimpatience. She caught the opening strains of the orchestra as it swunginto the favorite melody of the day; she could hear the thud of dancingfeet overhead. She was like a stoker shut up in the hold of the vesselwhile a lively skirmish is in progress on deck. 

As she sat there the wardrobe woman, a matronly-looking, Irishperson, came up and ordered her peremptorily to get off the trunk. Nance not only complied, but she offered her assistance in getting itout of the passage. 

"May ye have some one as civil as ye are to wait on ye when ye are as oldas I am!" said the woman. "It's your first night, eh?"

"Yep. Maybe my last for all I know. They 're trying me out. "

"Good luck to ye, " said the woman. "Well I mind the night I made mefirst bow. "

"You!"

"No less. I'd a waist on me ye could span wid yer two hands. And legs!well, it ain't fer me to be braggin', but there ain't a girl in thechorus kin stack up alongside what I oncet was! Me an' a lad named TimMoriarty did a turn called 'The Wearing of the Green, '--'Ryan andMoriarty' was the team. I kin see the names on the bill-board now! We had'em laughin' an' cryin' at the same time, 'til their tears run into theiropen mouths!"

"Wisht I could've seen you, " said Nance. "I bet it was great. "

The wardrobe woman, unused to such a sympathetic listener, would havelingered indefinitely had not a boy handed Nance a box which absorbed allher attention. 

"Miss Birdie La Rue, " was inscribed on one side of the card that dangledfrom it on a silver cord, and on the other was scribbled, "Monte and Iwill wait for you after the show. Bring another girl. M. D. C. "

"And I'm the other girl!" Nance told herself rapturously. 

There was a flurry in the wings above and the chorus overflowed downthe stairs. 

"It's a capacity house, " gasped Birdie, "but a regular cold-storageplant. We never got but one round. Spagetti is having spasms. "

"What's a round?" demanded Nance, but nobody had time to enlighten her. 

It was not until the end of the second act that her name was called, andshe went scampering up the stairs as fast as her clumsy suit wouldpermit. The stage was set for a forest scene, with gnarled trees andhanging vines and a transparent drop that threw a midnight blue haze overthe landscape. 

"Crawl up on the stump there!" ordered Reeser, attending to half a dozenthings at once. "Put you four paws together. Head up! Hold the pose untilthe gnomes go off. When I blow the whistle, get down and dance. I'll getthe will-o'-the-wisps on as quick as I can. Clear the stage everybody!Ready for the curtain? Let her go!"

Nance, peering excitedly through the little round holes of her mask, sawthe big curtain slowly ascend, revealing only a dazzling row offootlights beyond. Then gradually out of the dusk loomed the vastauditorium with its row after row of dim white faces, reaching back andup, up further than she dared lift her head to see. From down belowsomewhere sounded the weird tinkle of elfin music, and tiptoeing out fromevery tree and bush came a green-clad gnome, dancing in stealthy silencein the sleeping forest. Quite unconsciously Nance began to keep time. Itwas such glorious fun playing at being animals and fairies in the woodsat night. Without realizing what she was doing, she dropped into what sheused to call in the old sweat-shop days, "dancin' settin' down. "

A ripple of amusement passed through the audience, and she looked aroundto see what the gnomes were up to, but they were going off the stage, andthe suppressed titter continued. A soft whistle sounded in the wings, andwith a furiously beating heart, she slid down from her high stump andambled down to the footlights. 

All might have gone well, had not a sudden shaft of white light shottoward her from the balcony opposite, making a white spot around theplace she was standing. She got out of it only to find that it followedher, and in the bewilderment of the discovery, she lost her headcompletely. All her carefully practised steps and poses were utterlyforgotten; she could think of nothing but that pursuing light, and hermad desire to get out of it. 

Then something the director had said at the rehearsal flashed across theconfusion. "She makes her own part, " he had said of Flossy Pierson, andNance, with grim determination, decided to do the same. A fat man in theleft hand box had laughed out when she discovered the spotlight. Shedetermined to make him laugh again. Simulating the dismay that at firstwas genuine, she began to play tag with the shaft of light, dodging it, jumping over it, hiding from it behind the stump, leading it a merrychase from corner to corner. The fat man grew hysterical. The audiencelaughed at him, and then it began to laugh at Nance. She threw herselfinto the frolic with the same mad abandonment with which she used todance to the hand-organ in front of Slap Jack's saloon. She cut as manyfantastic capers as a frisky kitten playing in the twilight; she leaptand rolled and romped, and the spectators, quick to feel the contagion ofsomething new and young and joyful, woke up for the first time during theevening, and followed her pranks with round after round of applause. 

When at last the music ceased, she scampered into the wings and sankgasping and laughing into a chair. 

"They want you back!" cried Reeser, excitedly beckoning to her. "Go onagain. Take the call. "

"The what?" said Nance, bewildered. But before she could find out, shewas thrust forward and, not being able to see where she was going, shetripped and fell sprawling upon the very scene of her recent triumph. 

In the confusion of the moment she instinctively snatched off her mask, and as she did so the sea of faces merged suddenly into one. In theorchestra below, gazing at her with dropped jaw over his arrestedfiddle-bow, was old Mr. Demry, with such a comical look of paralyzedamazement on his face that Nance burst into laughter. 

There was something in her glowing, childish face, innocent ofmake-up, and in her seeming frank enjoyment of the mishap that tookthe house by storm. The man in the box applauded until his face waspurple; gloved hands in the parquet tapped approval; the balconystormed; the gallery whistled. 

She never knew how she got off the stage, or whether the director shoutedpraise or blame as she darted through the wings. It was not until shereached the dressing-room, and the girls crowded excitedly around herthat she knew she had scored a hit. 

She came on once more at the end of the last act in the grand ballet, where all the dancers performed intricate manoeuvers under changinglights. Every time the wheeling figures brought her round to thefootlights, there was a greeting from the front, and, despite warnings, she could not suppress a responsive wag of the head or a friendly waveof the paw. 

"She is so fresh, so fresh!" groaned Pulatki from the wings. 

"She's alive, " said Reeser. "She'll never make a show girl, and she's gotno voice to speak of. But she's got a personality that climbs right overthe footlights. I'm going to engage her for the rest of the season. "

When the play was over, Nance, struggling into Birdie's complicatedfinery in the dressing-room below, wondered how she could ever manage toexist until the next performance. Her one consolation was the immediateprospect of seeing Mac Clarke and the mysterious Monte to whom Birdie hadsaid she must be nice. As she pinned on a saucy fur toque in place of herown cheap millinery, she viewed herself critically in the glass. Besidethe big show girls about her, she felt ridiculously young and slender andinsignificant. 

"I believe I'll put on some paint!" she said. 

Birdie laughed. 

"What for, Silly? Your cheeks are blazing now. You'll have time enoughto paint 'em when you've been dancing a couple of years. "

They were among the last to leave the dressing-room, and when theyreached the stage entrance, Birdie spied two figures. 

"There they are!" she whispered to Nance, "the fat one is Monte, the other--"

Nance had an irresistible impulse to run away. Now that the time hadcome, she didn't want to meet those sophisticated young men in their longcoats and high hats. She wouldn't know how to act, what to say. ButBirdie had already joined them, and was turning to say airily:

"Shake hands with my friend Miss Millay, Mr. Clarke--and, I say, Monte, what's your other name?"

The older of the young men laughed good-naturedly. 

"Monte'll do, " he said. "I'm that to half the girls in town. "

Mac's bright bold eyes scanned Nance curiously. "Where have I seen youbefore?" he asked instantly. 

"Don't you recognize her?" said Monte. "She's the little bear! I'd knowthat smile in ten thousand!"

Nance presented him with one on the spot, out of gratitude for thediversion. She was already sharing Birdie's wish that no reference bemade to Calvary Alley or the factory. They had no place in thisrose-colored world. 

Monte and the two girls had descended the steps to the street when theformer looked over his shoulder. 

"Why doesn't Mac come on?" he asked. "Who is the old party he isarguing with?"

"Oh, Lord! It's old man Demry, " exclaimed Birdie in exasperation. "Heplays in the orchestra. Full of dope half of the time. Why don't Mac comeon and leave him?"

But the old musician was not to be left. He pushed past Mac and, staggering down the steps, laid his hand on Nance's arm. 

"You must come home with me, Nancy, " he urged unsteadily. "I want to talkto you. Want to tell you something. "

"See here!" broke in Mac Clarke, peremptorily, "is this young lady yourdaughter?"

Mr. Demry put his hand to his dazed head and looked from one to the otherin troubled uncertainty. 

"No, " he said incoherently. "I had a daughter once. But she is much olderthan this child. She must be nearly forty by now, and to think I haven'tseen her face for twenty-two years. I shouldn't even know her if I shouldsee her. I couldn't make shipwreck of her life, you know--shipwreck ofone you love best in the world!"

"Oh, come ahead!" called Birdie from below. "He don't know what he'sbabbling about. "

But the old man's wrinkled hand still clung to Nance's arm. "Don't gowith them!" he implored. "I know. I've seen. Ten years playing for girlsto dance. Stage no place for you, Nancy. Come home with me, child. Come!"He was trembling with earnestness and his voice quavered. 

"Let go of her arm, you old fool!" cried Mac, angrily. "It's none of yourbusiness where she goes!"

"Nor of yours, either!" Nance flashed back instantly. "You keep yourhands off him!"

Then she turned to Mr. Demry and patiently tried to explain that she wasspending the night with Birdie Smelts; he remembered Birdie--used to liveacross the hall from him? She was coming home in the morning. She wouldexplain everything to Mrs. Snawdor. She promised she would. 

Mr. Demry, partly reassured, relaxed his grasp. 

"Who is this young man, Nancy?" he asked childishly. "Tell me his name. "

"It's Mr. Mac Clarke, " said Nance, despite Birdie's warning glance. 

A swift look of intelligence swept the dazed old face; then terrorgathered in his eyes. 

"Not--not--Macpherson Clarke?" he stammered; then he sat down in thedoorway. "O my God!" he sobbed, dropping his head in his hands. 

"He won't go home 'til morning!" hummed Monte, catching Birdie by thearm and skipping down the passage. Nance stood for a moment lookingdown at the maudlin old figure muttering to himself on the door-step;then she, too, turned and followed the others out into the gaymidnight throng. 

CHAPTER XIX

PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT

What a radically different place the world seems when one doesn't have tobegin the day with an alarm clock! There is a hateful authority in itsbrassy, peremptory summons that puts one on the defensive immediately. Tobe sure, Nance dreamed she heard it the following day at noon, and sprangup in bed with the terrifying conviction that she would be late at MissBobinet's. But when she saw where she was, she gave a sigh of relief, andsnuggled down against Birdie's warm shoulder, and tried to realize whathad happened to her. 

The big theater, the rows of smiling faces, the clapping hands--surelythey must have all been a dream? And Mr. Demry? Why had he sat on thesteps and cried into a big starchy handkerchief? Oh, yes; she rememberednow, but she didn't like to remember, so she hurried on. 

There was a café, big and noisy, with little tables, and a woman whostood on a platform, with her dress dragging off one shoulder, and sang abeautiful song, called "I'm A-wearying for You. " Mr. Monte didn't thinkit was pretty; he had teased her for thinking so. But then he had teasedher for not liking the raw oysters, and for saying the champagne made hernose go to sleep. They had all teased her and laughed at everything shesaid. She didn't care; she liked it. They thought she was funny andcalled her "Cubby. " At least Mr. Monte did. Mr. Mac didn't call heranything. He talked most of the time to Birdie, but his eyes were all for_her_, with a smile that sort of remembered and sort of forgot, and--

"Say, Birdie!" She impulsively interrupted her own confused reflections. "Do you think they liked me--honest?"

"Who?" said Birdie, drowsily, "the audience?"

"No. Those fellows last night. I haven't got any looks to brag on, andI'm as green as a string-bean!"

"That's what tickles 'em, " said Birdie. "Besides, you can't ever tellwhat makes a girl take. You got a independent way of walking and talking, and Monte's crazy 'bout your laugh. But you're a funny kid; you beckon afeller with one hand and slap his face with the other. "

"Not unless he gets nervy!" said Nance. 

After what euphemistically might be termed a buffet breakfast, preparedover the gas and served on the trunk, Nance departed for Calvary Alley, to proclaim to the family her declaration of independence. She wasprepared for a battle royal with all whom it might concern, and wastherefore greatly relieved to find only her stepmother at home. Thatworthy lady surrendered before a gun was fired. 

"Ain't that Irish luck fer you?" she exclaimed, almost enviously. "Imagine one of Yager's and Snawdor's childern gittin' on the stage! IfBud Molloy hadn't taken to railroading he could 'a' been a end man in aminstrel show! You got a lot of his takin' ways, Nance. It's a Lord'spity you ain't got his looks!"

"Oh, give me time!" said Nance, whose spirits were soaring. 

"I sort 'er thought of joining the ballet onct myself, " said Mrs. Snawdor, with a conscious smile. "It was on account of a scene-shifter Iwas runnin' with along about the time I met your pa. "

"You!" exclaimed Nance. "Oh! haven't I got a picture of you dancing. Wait'til I show you!" And ably assisted by the bolster and the bedspread, shegave a masterly imitation of her stout stepmother that made the originallimp with laughter. Then quite as suddenly, Nance collapsed into a chairand grew very serious. 

"Say!" she demanded earnestly, "honest to goodness now! Do you thinkthere's any sin in me going on the stage?"

"Sin!" repeated Mrs. Snawdor. "Why, I think it's elegant. I was sayin'so to Mrs. Smelts only yesterday when she was takin' on about Birdie'streatin' her so mean an' never comin' to see her or writin' to her. 'Don't lay it on the stage, ' I says to her. 'Lay it on Birdie; she alwayswas a stuck-up piece. '"

Nance pondered the matter, her chin on her palm. Considering the chronicfallibility of Mrs. Snawdor's judgment, she would have been morecomfortable if she had met with some opposition. 

"Mr. Demry thinks it's wrong, " said Nance, taking upon herself the roleof counsel for the prosecution. "He took on something fierce when he sawme last night. "

"He never knowed what he was doin', " Mrs. Snawdor said. "They tell me hecan play in the orchestry, when he's full as a nut. "

"And there's Uncle Jed, " continued Nance uneasily. "What you reckon he'sgoing to say?"

"You leave that to me, " said Mrs. Snawdor, darkly. "Mr. Burks ain'tgoin' to git a inklin' 'til you've went. There ain't nobody I respectmore on the face of the world than I do Jed Burks, but some people isso all-fired good that livin' with 'em is like wearin' new shoes theyear round. "

"'T ain't as if I was doing anything wicked, " said Nance, this timecounsel for the defense. 

"Course not, " agreed Mrs. Snawdor. "How much they goin' to pay you?"

The incredible sum was mentioned, and Mrs. Snawdor's imagination tookinstant flight. 

"You'll be gittin' a autymobile at that rate. Say, if I send Lobeliaround to Cemetery Street and git yer last week's pay, can I have it?"

Nance was counting on that small sum to finish payment on her springsuit, but in the face of imminent affluence she could ill afford to beniggardly. 

"I'll buy Rosy V. Some shoes, an' pay somethin' on the cuckoo clock, "planned Mrs. Snawdor, "an' I've half a mind to take another policy onWilliam J. That boy's that venturesome it wouldn't surprise me none tosee him git kilt any old time!"

Nance, who had failed to convince herself, either as counsel for thedefense or counsel for the prosecution, assumed the prerogative of judgeand dismissed the case. If older people had such different opinions aboutright and wrong, what was the use in her bothering about it? With a shrugof her shoulders she set to work sorting her clothes and packing the onesshe needed in a box. 

"The gingham dresses go to Fidy, " she said with reckless generosity, "theblue skirt to Lobelia, and my Madonna--" Her eyes rested wistfully on hermost cherished possession. "I think I'd like Rosy to have that when shegrows up. "

"All right, " agreed Mrs. Snawdor. "There ain't no danger of anybodytakin' it away from her. "

Nance was kneeling on the floor, tying a cord about her box when sheheard steps on the stairs. 

"Uncle Jed?" she asked in alarm. 

"No. Just Snawdor. He won't ast no questions. He ain't got gumptionenough to be curious. "

"I hate to go sneaking off like this without telling everybody good-by, "said Nance petulantly, "Uncle Jed, and the children, and the Levinskis, and Mr. Demry, and--and--Dan. "

"You don't want to take no risks, " said Mrs. Snawdor, importantly. "There's a fool society for everything under the sun, an' somebody'll betryin' to git out a injunction. I don't mind swearin' to whatever age yougot to be, but Mr. Burks is so sensitive about them things. "

"All right, " said Nance, flinging on her hat and coat, "tell 'em how itwas when I'm gone. I'll be sending you money before long. "

"That's right, " whispered Mrs. Snawdor, hanging over the banister asNance felt her way down the stairs. "You be good to yerself an' see ifyou can't git me a theayter ticket for to-morrow night. Git two, an' I'lltake Mis' Gorman. "

Never had Nance tripped so lightly down those dark, narrow stairs--thestairs her feet had helped to wear away in her endless pilgrimages withbuckets of coal and water and beer, with finished and unfinishedgarments, and omnipresent Snawdor babies. She was leaving it allforever, along with the smell of pickled herrings and cabbage andsoapsuds. But she was not going to forget the family! Already she wasplanning munificent gifts from that fabulous sum that was henceforth tobe her weekly portion. 

At Mr. Demry's closed door she paused; then hastily retracing her steps, she slipped back to her own room and got a potted geranium, bearing onedirty-faced blossom. This she placed on the floor outside his door andthen, picking up her big box, she slipped quickly out of the house, through the alley and into the street. 

It was late when she got back to Birdie's room, and as she entered, shewas startled by the sound of smothered sobbing. 

"Birdie!" she cried in sudden alarm, peering into the semi-darkness, "what's the matter? Are you fired?"

Birdie started up hastily from the bed where she had been lying facedownward, and dried her eyes. 

"No, " she said crossly. "Nothing's the matter, only I got the blues. "

"The blues!" repeated Nance, incredulously. "What for?"

"Oh, everything. I wish I was dead. "

"Birdie Smelts, what's happened to you?" demanded Nance in alarm, sittingby her on the bed and trying to put her arm around her. 

"Whoever said anything had happened?" asked the older girl, pushingher away. "Stop asking fool questions and get dressed. We'll be lateas it is. "

For some time they went about their preparations in silence; then Nance, partly to relieve the tension, and partly because the matter was of vitalinterest, asked:

"Do you reckon Mr. Mac and Mr. Monte will come again to-night?"

"You can't tell, " said Birdie. "What do they care about engagements?We are nothing but dirt to them--just dirt under their oldpatent-leather pumps!"

This bitterness on Birdie's part was so different from her customarysuperiority where men were concerned, that Nance gasped. 

"If they _do_ come, " continued Birdie vindictively, "you just watch meteach Mac Clarke a thing or two. He needn't think because his folkshappen to be swells, he can treat me any old way. I'll make it hot forhim if he don't look out, you see if I don't. "

Once back at the Gaiety, Nance forgot all about Birdie and her loveaffairs. Her own small triumph completely engrossed her. A morning paperhad mentioned the fantastic dance of the little bear, and had given herthree lines all to herself. Reeser was jubilant, the director wasmollified, and even the big comedian whose name blazed in letters offire outside, actually stopped her in the wings to congratulate her. 

"Look here, young person, " he said, lifting a warning finger, "you wantto be careful how you steal my thunder. You'll be taking my job next!"

Whereupon Nance had the audacity to cross her eyes and strike hismost famous pose before she dodged under his arm and scampered downthe stairs. 

It seemed incredible that the marvelous events of the night before couldhappen all over again; but they did. She had only to imitate her ownperformance to send the audience into peals of laughter. It would havebeen more fun to try new tricks, but on this point Pulatki was adamant. 

"I vant zat you do ze same act, no more, no less, see?" he demanded ofher, fiercely. 

When the encore came, and at Reeser's command she snatched off her bear'shead and made her funny, awkward, little bow, she involuntarily glanceddown at the orchestra. Mr. Demry was not there, but in the parquet sheencountered a pair of importunate eyes that set her pulses bounding. Theysought her out in the subsequent chorus and followed her every movementin the grand march that followed. 

"Mr. Mac's down there, " she whispered excitedly to Birdie as they passedin the first figure, but Birdie tossed her head and flirted persistentlywith the gallery which was quite unused to such marked attention from theprincipal show girl. 

There was no supper after the play that night, and it was only after muchpersuasion on Mac's part, reinforced by the belated Monte, that Birdiewas induced to come out of her sulks and go for a drive around the park. 

"Me for the front seat!" cried Nance hoydenishly, and then, as Mac jumpedin beside her and took the wheel, she saw her mistake. 

"Oh! I didn't know--" she began, but Mac caught her hand and gave it agrateful squeeze. 

"Confess you wanted to sit by me!" he whispered. 

"But I didn't!" she protested hotly. "I never was in a automobile beforeand I just wanted to see how it worked!"

She almost persuaded herself that this was true when they reached thelong stretch of parkway, and Mac let her take the wheel. It was only whenin the course of instruction Mac's hand lingered too long on hers, or hisgay, careless face leaned too close, that she had her misgivings. 

"Say! this is great!" she cried rapturously, with her feet braced and hereyes on the long road ahead. "When it don't get the hic-cups, it beats ahorse all hollow!"

"What do you know about horses?" teased Mac, giving unnecessaryassistance with the wheel. 

"Enough to keep my hands off the reins when another fellow's driving!"she said coolly--a remark that moved Mac to boisterous laughter. 

When they were on the homeward way and Mac had taken the wheel again, they found little to say to each other. Once he got her to light acigarette for him, and once or twice she asked a question about theengine. In Calvary Alley one talked or one didn't as the mood suggested, and Nance was unversed in the fine art of making conversation. Itdisturbed her not a whit that she and the handsome youth beside her hadno common topic of interest. It was quite enough for her to sit therebeside him, keenly aware that his arm was pressing hers and that everytime she glanced up she found him glancing down. 

It was a night of snow and moonshine, one of those transitorial nightswhen winter is going and spring is coming. Nance held her breath as thecar plunged headlong into one mass of black shadows after another only toemerge triumphant into the white moonlight. She loved the unexpectedrevelations of the headlights, which turned the dim road to silver andlit up the dark turf at the wayside. She loved the crystal-clear moonthat was sailing off and away across those dim fields of virgin snow. Andthen she was not thinking any longer, but feeling--feeling beauty andwonder and happiness and always the blissful thrill of that arm pressedagainst her own. 

Not until they were nearing the city did she remember the couple on theback seat. 

"Wake up there!" shouted Mac, tossing his cap over his shoulder. "Goneto sleep?"

"I am trying to induce Miss Birdie to go to the carnival ball with meto-morrow night, " said Monte. "It's going to be no end of a lark. "

"Take me, too, Birdie, please!" burst out Nance with such childishvehemence that they all laughed. 

"What's the matter with us all going?" cried Mac, instantly on fire atthe suggestion. "Mother's having a dinner to-morrow night, but I can joinyou after the show. What do you say, Bird?"

But Birdie was still in the sulks, and it was not until Mac had changedplaces with Monte and brought the full battery of his persuasions to bearupon her that she agreed to the plan. 

That night when the girls were tucked comfortably in bed and the lightswere out, they discussed ways and means. 

"I'm going to see if I can't borrow a couple of red-bird costumes offMrs. Ryan, " said Birdie, whose good humor seemed completely restored. "We'll buy a couple of masks. I don't know what Monte's letting us infor, but I'll try anything once. "

"Will there be dancing, Birdie?" asked Nance, her eyes shining in thedark. 

"Of course, Silly! Nothing but. Say, what was the matter with you and Macto-night? You didn't seem to hit it off. "

"Oh! we got along pretty good. "

"I never heard you talking much. By the way, he's going to take meto-morrow night, and you are going with Monte. "

"Any old way suits me!" said Nance, "just so I get there. " But she layawake for a time staring into the dark, thinking things over. 

"Does he always call you 'Bird'?" she asked after a long silence. 

"Who, Mac? Yes. Why?"

"Oh! Nothing, " said Nance. 

The next day being Saturday, there were two performances, beside thepacking necessary for an early departure on the morrow. Butnotwithstanding the full day ahead of her, Birdie spent the morning inbed, languidly directing Nance, who emptied the wardrobe and bureaudrawers and sorted and folded the soiled finery. Toward noon she got upand, petulantly declaring that the room was suffocating, announced thatshe was going out to do some shopping. 

"I'll come, too, " said Nance, to whom the purchasing of wearing apparelwas a new and exciting experience. 

"No; you finish up here, " said Birdie. "I'll be back soon. "

Nance went to the window and watched for her to come out in the streetbelow. She was beginning to be worried about Birdie. What made her sorestless and discontented? Why wouldn't she go to see her mother? Why wasshe so cross with Mac Clarke when he was with her and so miserable whenhe was away? While she pondered it over, she saw Birdie cross the streetand stand irresolute for a moment, before she turned her back on theshopping district and hastened off to the east where the tall pipes ofthe factories stood like exclamation points along the sky-line. 

Already the noon whistles were blowing, and she recognized, above therest, the shrill voice of Clarke's Bottle Factory. How she used tolisten for that whistle, especially on Saturdays. Why, _this_ wasSaturday! In the exciting rush of events she had forgotten completelythat Dan would be waiting for her at five o'clock at the foot ofCemetery Street. Never once in the months she had been at Miss Bobinet'shad he failed to be there on Saturday afternoon. If only she could sendhim some word, make some excuse! But it was not easy to deceive Dan, andshe knew he would never rest until he got at the truth of the matter. No; she had better take Mrs. Snawdor's advice and run no risks. And yetthat thought of Dan waiting patiently at the corner tormented her asshe finished the packing. 

When the time arrived to report at the theater, Birdie had not returned, so Nance rushed off alone at the last minute. It was not until the firstchorus was about to be called that the principal show girl, flushed andtired, flung herself into the dressing-room and made a lightning changein time to take her place at the head of the line. 

There was a rehearsal between the afternoon and evening performances, andthe girls had little time for confidences. 

"Don't ask me any questions!" said Birdie crossly, as she sat before herdressing-table, wearily washing off the make-up of the afternoon in orderto put on the make-up of the evening. "I'm so dog tired I'd lots ratherbe going to bed than to that carnival thing!"

"Don't you back out!" warned Nance, to whom it was ridiculous that anyone should be tired under such exhilarating circumstances. 

"Oh, I'll go, " said Birdie, "if it's just for the sake of gettingsomething decent to eat. I'm sick of dancing on crackers and ice-water. "

That night Nance, for the first time, was reconciled to the finalcurtain. The weather was threatening and the audience was small, but thatwas not what took the keen edge off the performance. It was the absencein the parquet of a certain pair of pursuing eyes that made all thedifference. Moreover, the prospect of the carnival ball made even thefootlights pale by comparison. 

The wardrobe woman, after much coaxing and bribing, had been inducedto lend the girls two of the property costumes, and Nance, with thehelp of several giggling assistants, was being initiated into themysteries of the red-bird costume. When she had donned the crimsontights, and high-heeled crimson boots, and the short-spangled slipwith its black gauze wings, she gave a half-abashed glance at herselfin the long mirror. 

"I can't do it, Birdie!" she cried, "I feel like a fool. You be a redbird, and let me be a bear!"

"Don't we all do it every night?" asked Birdie. "When we've got on ourmasks, nobody 'll know us. We'll just be a couple of 'Rag-Time Follies'taking a night off. "

"Don't she look cute with her cap on?" cried one of the girls. "I'd givemy head to be going!"

Nance put on a borrowed rain-coat which was to serve as evening wrap aswell and, with a kiss all around and many parting gibes, ran up the stepsin Birdie's wake. 

The court outside the stage entrance was a bobbing mass of umbrellas. Groups of girls, pulling their wraps on as they came, tripped noisilydown the steps, greeting waiting cavaliers, or hurrying off alone invarious directions. 

"That's Mac's horn, " said Birdie, "a long toot and two short ones. I'dknow it in Halifax!"

At the curbing the usual altercation arose between Mac and Birdie as tohow they should sit. The latter refused to sit on the front seat for fearof getting wet, and Mac refused to let Monte drive. 

"Oh, I don't mind getting wet!" cried Nance with a fine show ofindifference. "That's what a rain-coat's for. "

When Mac had dexterously backed his machine out of its close quarters, and was threading his way with reckless skill through the crowdedstreets, he said softly, without turning his head:

"I think I rather like you, Nance Molloy!"

CHAPTER XX

WILD OATS

The tenth annual carnival ball, under the auspices of a too-well-knownpolitical organization, was at its midnight worst. It was one of thoseconglomerate gatherings, made up of the loose ends of the city--wardpoliticians, girls from the department stores, Bohemians with an unsatedthirst for diversion, reporters, ostensibly looking for copy, women justover the line of respectability, sometimes on one side, sometimes on theother, and the inevitable sprinkling of well-born youths who regard suchoccasions as golden opportunities for seeing that mysterious phantomtermed "life. "

It was all cheap and incredibly tawdry, from the festoons of paper roseson the walls to the flash of paste jewels in make-believe crowns. The bighall, with its stage flanked by gilded boxes, was crowded with a shiftingthrong of maskers in costumes of flaunting discord. Above the noisylaughter and popping of corks, rose the blaring strains of a brass band. Through the odor of flowers came the strong scent of musk, which, inturn, was routed by the fumes of beer and tobacco which were alreadymaking the air heavy. 

On the edge of all this stood Nance Molloy, in that magic hour of hergirlhood when the bud was ready to burst into the full-blown blossom. Herslender figure on tiptoe with excitement, her eyes star-like behind hermask, she stood poised, waiting with all her unslaked thirst forpleasure, to make her plunge into the gay, dancing throng. She no longercared if her skirts were short, and her arms and neck were bare. She nolonger thought of how she looked or how she acted. There was no Pulatkiin the wings to call her down for extra flourishes; there was no oldwhite face in the orchestra to disturb her conscience. Her chance for agood time had come at last, and she was rushing to meet it with armsoutstretched. 

"They are getting ready for the grand march!" cried Monte, who, with Mac, represented the "two _Dromios_. " "We separate at the end of the hall, andwhen the columns line up again, you dance with your vis-à-vis. "

"My who-tee-who?" asked Nance. 

"Vis-à-vis--fellow opposite. Come ahead!"

Down the long hall swung the gay procession, while the floor vibrated tothe rhythm of the prancing feet. The columns marched and countermarchedand fell into two long lines facing each other. The leader of theorchestra blew a shrill whistle, and Nance, marking time expectantly, saw one of the _Dromios_ slip out of his place and into the one facingher. The next moment the columns flowed together, and she found herselfin his arms, swinging in and out of the gay whirling throng with everynerve tingling response to the summoning music. 

Suddenly a tender pressure made her glance up sharply at the white maskof her companion. 

"Why--why, I thought it was Mr. Monte, " she laughed. 

"Disappointed?" asked Mac. 

"N-no. "

"Then why are you stopping?"

Nance could not tell him that in her world a "High Particular" was not tobe trifled with. In her vigil of the night before she had made firmresolve to do the square thing by Birdie Smelts. 

"Where are the others?" she asked in sudden confusion. 

"In the supper room probably. Aren't you going to finish this with me?"

"Not me. I'm going to dance with Mr. Monte. "

"Has he asked you?"

"No; I'm going to ask him. " And she darted away, leaving Mac to follow athis leisure. 

After supper propriety, which up to now had held slack rein on thecarnival spirit, turned her loose. Masks were flung aside, hundreds oftoy balloons were set afloat and tossed from hand to hand, confetti wasshowered from the balcony, boisterous song and laughter mingled with themusic. The floor resembled some gigantic kaleidoscope, one gay patternfollowing another in rapid succession. And in every group the most vividnote was struck by a flashing red bird. Even had word not gone abroadthat the girls in crimson and black were from the "Rag Time Follies", Birdie's conspicuous charms would have created instant comment and a hostof admirers. 

Nance, with characteristic independence, soon swung out of Birdie's orbitand made friends for herself. For her it was a night of delirium, and herpulses hammered in rhythm to the throbbing music. In one day life hadcaught her up out of an abyss of gloom and swung her to a dizzy pinnacleof delight, where she poised in exquisite ecstasy, fearing that the nextturn of the wheel might carry her down again. Laughter had softened herlips and hung mischievous lights in her eyes; happiness had set hernerves tingling and set roses blooming in cheeks and lips. The smolderingfires of self-expression, smothered so long, burst into riotous flame. With utter abandonment she flung herself into the merriment of themoment, romping through the dances with any one who asked her, slappingthe face of an elderly knight who went too far in his gallantries, dancing a hornpipe with a fat clown to the accompaniment of a hundredclapping hands. Up and down the crowded hall she raced, a hoydenishlittle tom-boy, drunk with youth, with freedom, and with the pent-upvitality of years. 

Close after her, snatching her away from the other dancers only to haveher snatched away from him in turn, was Mac Clarke, equally flushed andexcited, refusing to listen to Monte's insistent reminder that a stormwas brewing and they ought to go home. 

"Hang the storm!" cried Mac gaily. "I'm in for it with the governor, anyhow. Let's make a night of it!"

At the end of a dance even wilder than the rest, Nance found herself withMac at the entrance to one of the boxes that flanked the stage. 

"I've got you now!" he panted, catching her wrists and pulling her withinthe curtained recess. "You've got to tell me why you've been running awayfrom me all evening. "

"I haven't, " said Nance, laughing and struggling to free her hands. 

"You have, too! You've given me the slip a dozen times. Don't you knowI'm crazy about you?"

"Much you are!" scoffed Nance. "Go tell that to Birdie. "

"I'll tell it to Birdie and every one else if you like, " Mac cried. "Itwas all up with me the first time I saw you. "

With his handsome, boyish face and his frilled shirt, he looked soabsurdly like the choir boy, who had once sat on the fence flinging rocksat her, that she threw back her head and laughed. 

"You don't even know the first time you saw me, " she challenged him. 

"Well, I know I've seen you somewhere before. Tell me where?"

"Guess!" said Nance, with dancing eyes. 

"Wait! I know! It was on the street one night. You were standing in adrug store. A red light was shining on you, and you smiled at me. "

"I smiled at you because I knew you. I'd seen you before that. Once whenyou didn't want me to. In the factory yard--behind the gas-pipe--"

"Were you the little girl that caught me kissing Bird that day?"

"Yes! But there was another time even before that. "

He searched her face quizzically, still holding her wrists. 

Nance, no longer trying to free her hands, hummed teasingly, half underher breath:

"Do ye think the likes of yeCould learn to like the likes o' me?Arrah, come in, Barney McKane, out of the rain!"

A puzzled look swept his face; then he cried exultantly:

"I've got it. It was you who let my pigeons go! You little devil! I'mgoing to pay you back for that!" and before she knew it, he had got bothof her hands into one of his and had caught her to him, and was kissingher there in the shadow of the curtain, kissing her gay, defiant eyes andher half-childish lips. 

And Nance, the independent, scoffing, high-headed Nance, who up to thistime had waged successful warfare, offensive as well as defensive, against the invading masculine, forgot for one transcendent secondeverything in the world except the touch of those ardent lips on hers andthe warm clasp of the arm about her yielding shoulders. 

In the next instant she sprang away from him, and in dire confusion fledout of the box and down the corridor. 

At the door leading back into the ball-room a group of dancers hadgathered and were exchanging humorous remarks about a woman who was beingborne, feet foremost, into the corridor by two men in costume. 

Nance, craning her neck to see, caught a glimpse of a white face with asagging mouth, and staring eyes under a profusion of tumbled red hair. With a gasp of recognition she pushed forward and impulsively seized oneof the woman's limp hands. 

"Gert!" she cried, "what's the matter? Are you hurt?"

The monk gave a significant wink at Mac, who had joined them, and theby-standers laughed. 

"She's drunk!" said Mac, abruptly, pulling Nance away. "Where did youever know that woman?"

"Why, it's Gert, you know, at the factory! She worked at the benchnext to mine!"

Her eyes followed the departing group somberly, and she lingered despiteMac's persuasion. 

Poor Gert! Was this what she meant by a good time? To be limp and sillylike that, with her dress slipping off her shoulder and people staring ather and laughing at her?

"I don't want to dance!" she said impatiently, shaking off Mac's hand. 

The steaming hall, reeking with tobacco smoke and stale beer, the men andwomen with painted faces and blackened eyes leering and languishing ateach other, the snatches of suggestive song and jest, filled her withsudden disgust. 

"I'm going home, " she announced with determination. 

"But, Nance!" pleaded Mac, "you can't go until we've had our dance. "

But for Nance the spell was broken, and her one idea was to get away. When she found Birdie she became more insistent than ever. 

"Why not see it out?" urged Mac. "I don't want to go home. "

"You are as hoarse as a frog now, " said Monte. 

"Glad of it! Let's me out of singing in the choir to-morrow--I meanto-day! Who wants another drink?"

Birdie did, and another ten minutes was lost while they went around tothe refreshment room. 

The storm was at its height when at four o'clock they started on that maddrive home. The shrieking wind, the wet, slippery streets, the lightningflashing against the blurred wind-shield, the crashes of thunder thatdrowned all other sounds, were sufficient to try the nerves of thesteadiest driver. But Mac sped his car through it with recklessdisregard, singing, despite his hoarseness, with Birdie and Monte, andshouting laughing defiance as the lightning played. 

Nance sat very straight beside him with her eyes on the road ahead. Shehated Birdie for having taken enough wine to make her silly like that;she hated the boys for laughing at her. She saw nothing funny in the factthat somebody had lost the latch-key and that they could only get in byraising the landlady, who was sharp of tongue and free with her comments. 

"You girls better come on over to my rooms, " urged Monte. "We'll cookyour breakfast on the chafing-dish, won't we, Mac?"

"Me for the couch!" said Birdie. "I'm cross-eyed, I'm so sleepy. "

"I'm not going, " said Nance, shortly. 

"Don't be a short-sport, Nance, " urged Birdie, peevishly. "It's as goodas morning now. We can loaf around Monte's for a couple of hours and thengo over to my room and change our clothes in time to get to the stationby seven. Less time we have to answer questions, better it'll be for us. "

"I tell you I ain't going!" protested Nance, hotly. 

"Yes, you are!" whispered Mac softly. "You are going to be a good littlegirl and do whatever I want you to. "

Nance grew strangely silent under his compelling look, and under thetouch of his hand as it sought hers in the darkness. Why wasn't she angrywith Mr. Mac as she was with the others? Why did she want so much to dowhatever he asked her to? After all perhaps there was no harm in going toMr. Monte's for a little while, perhaps--

She drew in her breath suddenly and shivered. For the first time in herlife she was afraid, not of the storm, or the consequences of herescapade, but of herself. She was afraid of the quick, sweet shiver thatran over her whenever Mac touched her, of the strange weakness that cameover her even now, as his hands claimed hers. 

"Say, I'm going to get out, " she said suddenly. 

"Stop the car! Don't you hear me? I want to get out!"

"Nonsense!" said Mac, "you don't even know where you are! You are comingwith us to Monte's; that's what you are going to do. "

But Nance knew more than he thought. In the last flash of lightning shehad seen, back of them on the left, startlingly white for the secondagainst the blackness, the spire of Calvary Cathedral. She knew that theywere rapidly approaching the railroad crossing where Uncle Jed's signaltower stood, beyond which lay a region totally unfamiliar to her. 

She waited tensely until Mac had sped the car across the gleaming tracks, just escaping the descending gates. Then she bent forward and seized theemergency brake. The car came to a halt with a terrific jerk, plungingthem all forward, and under cover of the confusion Nance leapt out and, darting under the lowered gate, dashed across the tracks. The next momenta long freight train passed between her and the automobile, and when itwas done with its noisy shunting backward and forward, and had goneahead, the street was empty. 

Watching her chance between the lightning flashes, she darted from coverto cover. Once beyond the signal tower she would be safe from Uncle Jed'srighteous eye, and able to dash down a short cut she knew that led intothe street back of the warehouse and thence into Calvary Alley. If shecould get to her old room for the next two hours, she could change herclothes and be off again before any one knew of her night's adventure. 

Just as she reached the corner, a flash more blinding than the restripped the heavens. A line of fire raced toward her along the steelrails, then leapt in a ball to the big bell at the top of the signaltower. There was a deafening crash; all the electric lights went out, andNance found herself cowering against the fence, apparently the one livingobject in that wild, wet, storm-racked night. 

The only lights to be seen were the small red lamps suspended on theslanting gates. Nance waited for them to lower when the freight trainthat had backed into the yards five minutes before, rushed out again. Butthe lamps did not move. 

She crept back across the tracks, watching with fascinated horror thedark windows of the signal tower. Why didn't Uncle Jed light his lantern?Why hadn't he lowered the gates? All her fear of discovery was suddenlyswallowed up in a greater fear. 

At the foot of the crude wooden stairway she no longer hesitated. 

"Uncle Jed!" she shouted against the wind, "Uncle Jed, are you there?"

There was no answer. 

She climbed the steep steps and tried the door, which yielded grudginglyto her pressure. It was only when she put her shoulder to it and pushedwith all her strength that she made an opening wide enough to squeezethrough. There on the floor, lying just as he had fallen, was the oldgate-tender, his unseeing eyes staring up into the semi-darkness. 

Nance looked at him in terror, then at the signal board and the leversthat controlled the gates. A terrible trembling seized her, and shecovered her eyes with her hands. 

"God tell me quick, what must I do?" she demanded, and the next instant, as if in answer to her prayer, she heard herself gasp, "Dan!" as shefumbled wildly for the telephone. 

CHAPTER XXI

DAN

The shrill whistle that at noon had obtruded its discord into NanceMolloy's thoughts had a very different effect on Dan Lewis, washing hishands under the hydrant in the factory yard. _He_ had not forgotten thatit was Saturday. Neither had Growler, who stood watching him with anoblique look in his old eye that said as plain as words that he knew whatmomentous business was brewing at five o'clock. 

It was not only Saturday for Dan, but the most important Saturday thatever figured on the calendar. In his heroic efforts to conform to Mrs. Purdy's standard of perfection he had studied the advice to young men inthe "Sunday Echo. " There he learned that no gentleman would think ofmentioning love to a young lady until he was in a position to marry her. To-day's pay envelope would hold the exact amount to bring his bankaccount up to the three imposing figures that he had decided on as theminimum sum to be put away. 

As he was drying his hands on his handkerchief and whistling softlyunder his breath, he was summoned to the office. 

For the past year he had been a self-constituted buffer between Mr. Clarke and the men in the furnace-room, and he wondered anxiously whatnew complication had arisen. 

"He's got an awful grouch on, " warned the stenographer as Dan passedthrough the outer office. 

Mr. Clarke was sitting at his desk, tapping his foot impatiently. 

"Well, Lewis, " he said, "you've taken your time! Sit down. I want totalk to you. "

Dan dropped into the chair opposite and waited. 

"Is it true that you have been doing most of the new foreman's work forthe past month?"

"Well, I've helped him some. You see, being here so long, I know theropes a bit better than he does. "

"That's not the point. I ought to have known sooner that he could nothandle the job. I fired him this morning, and we've got to make sometemporary arrangement until a new man is installed. "

Dan's face grew grave. 

"We can manage everything but the finishing room. Some of the girls havebeen threatening to quit. "

"What's the grievance now?"

"Same thing--ventilation. Two more girls fainted there this morning. Theair is something terrible. "

"What do they think I am running?" demanded Mr. Clarke, angrily, "ahealth resort?"

"No, sir, " said Dan, "a death trap. "

Mr. Clarke set his jaw and glared at Dan, but he said nothing. Thedoctor's recent verdict on the death of a certain one-eyed girl, namedMag Gist, may have had something to do with his silence. 

"How many girls are in that room now?" he asked after a long pause. 

Dan gave the number, together with several other disturbing factsconcerning the sanitary arrangements. 

"Well, what's to be done?" demanded Mr. Clarke, fiercely. "We can'tget out the work with fewer girls, and there is no way of enlargingthat room. "

"Yes, sir, there is, " said Dan. "Would you mind me showing you a way?"

"Since you are so full of advice, go ahead. "

With crude, but sure, pencil strokes, Dan got his ideas on paper. He haddone it so often for his own satisfaction that he could have made themwith his eyes shut. Ever since those early days when he had seen thatroom through Nance Molloy's eyes, he had persisted in his efforts tobetter it. 

Mr. Clarke, with his fingers thrust through his scanty hair, watched himscornfully. 

"Absolutely impractical, " he declared. "The only feasible plan would beto take out the north partition and build an extension like this. "

"That couldn't be done, " said Dan, "on account of the projection. "

Whereupon, such is the power of opposition, Mr. Clarke set himself toprove that it could. For over an hour they wrangled, going into thequestions of cost, of time, of heating, of ventilation, scarcely lookingup from the plans until a figure in a checked suit flung open the door, letting in a draught of air that scattered the papers on the desk. 

"Hello, Dad, " said the new-comer, with a friendly nod to Dan, "I'm sorryto disturb you, but I only have a minute. "

"Which I should accept gratefully, I suppose, as my share of your busyday?" Mr. Clarke tried to look severe, but his eyes softened. 

"Well, I just got up, " said Mac, with an ingratiating smile, as hesmoothed back his shining hair before the mirror in the hat-rack. 

"Running all night, and sleeping half the day!" grumbled Mr. Clarke. "Bythe way, what time did you get in last night?"

Mac made a wry face. 

"_Et tu, Brute?_" he cried gaily. "Mother's polished me off on thatscore. I have not come here to discuss the waywardness of your prodigalson. Mr. Clarke, I have come to talk high finance. I desire tonegotiate a loan. "

"As usual, " growled his father. "I venture to say that Dan Lewis here, who earns about half what you waste a year, has something put away. "

"But Dan's the original grinder. He always had an eye for business. Usedto win my nickel every Sunday when we shot craps in the alley back of thecathedral. Say, Dan, I see you've still got that handsome thoroughbredcur of yours! By George, that dog could use his tail for a jumping rope!"

Dan smiled; he couldn't afford to be sensitive about Growler's beauty. 

"Is that all, Mr. Clarke?" he asked of his employer. 

"Yes. I'll see what can be done with these plans. In the meanwhile youtry to keep the girls satisfied until the new foreman comes. By the way Iexpect you'd better stay on here to-night. "

Dan paused with his hand on the door-knob. "Yes, sir, " he said in evidentembarrassment, "but if you don't mind--I 'd like to get off for a coupleof hours this afternoon. "

"Who's the girl, Dan?" asked Mac, but Dan did not stop to answer. 

As he hurried down the hall, a boy appeared from around the corner andbeckoned to him with a mysterious grin. 

"Somebody's waiting for you down in the yard. "

"Who is he?"

"'T ain't a he. It's the prettiest girl you ever seen!"

Dan, whose thoughts for weeks had been completely filled with onefeminine image, sprang to the window. But the tall, stylish personenveloped in a white veil, who was waiting below, in no remote waysuggested Nance Molloy. 

A call from a lady was a new experience, and a lively curiosity seizedhim as he descended the steps, turning down his shirt sleeves as he went. As he stepped into the yard, the girl turned toward him with a quick, nervous movement. 

"Hello, Daniel!" she said, her full red lips curving into a smile. "Don'tremember me, do you?"

"Sure, I do. It's Birdie Smelts. "

"Good boy! Only now it's Birdie La Rue. That's my stage name, you know. Iblew into town Thursday with 'The Rag Time Follies. ' Say, Dan, you usedto be a good friend of mine, didn't you?"

Dan had no recollection of ever having been noticed by Birdie, except onthat one occasion when he had taken her and Nance to the skating-rink. She was older than he by a couple of years, and infinitely wiser in theways of the world. But it was beyond masculine human nature not to beflattered by her manner, and he hastened to assure her that he had beenand was her friend. 

"Well, I wonder if you don't want to do me a favor?" she coaxed. "Findout if Mac Clarke's been here, or is going to be here. I got to see himon particular business. "

"He's up in the office now, " said Dan; then he added bluntly "Where didyou ever know Mac Clarke?"

Birdie's large, white lids fluttered a moment. 

"I come to see him for a friend of mine, " she said. 

A silence fell between them which she tried to break with a rather shamefaced explanation. 

"This girl and Mac have had a quarrel. I'm trying to patch it up. Wishyou'd get him down here a minute. "

"It would be a lot better for the girl, " said Dan, slowly, "if you didn'tpatch it up. "

"What do you mean?"

Dan looked troubled. 

"Clarke's a nice fellow all right, " he said, "but when it comes togirls--" he broke off abruptly. "Do you know him?"

"I've seen him round the theater, " she said. 

"Then you ought to know what I mean. "

Birdie looked absently across the barren yard. 

"Men are all rotten, " she said bitterly, then added with feminineinconsistency, "Go on, Dan, be a darling. Fix it so I can speak to himwithout the old man catching on. "

Strategic manoeuvers were not in Dan's line, and he might have refusedoutright had not Birdie laid a white hand on his and lifted a pair ofeffectively pleading eyes. Being unused to feminine blandishments, hesuccumbed. 

Half an hour later a white veil fluttered intimately across a broad, checked shoulder as two stealthy young people slipped under the window ofMr. Clarke's private office and made their way to the street. 

Dan gave the incident little further thought. He went mechanically abouthis work, only pausing occasionally at his high desk behind the door topore over a sheet of paper. Had his employer glanced casually over hisshoulder, he might have thought he was still figuring on the plans of thenew finishing room; but a second glance would have puzzled him. Insteadof one large room there were several small ones, and across the front wasa porch with wriggly lines on a trellis, minutely labeled, "honeysuckle. "

At a quarter of five Dan made as elaborate a toilet as the washroompermitted. He consumed both time and soap on the fractious forelock, andspent precious moments trying to induce a limp string tie to assume thesame correct set that distinguished Mac Clarke's four-in-hand. 

Once on his way, with Growler at his heels, he gave no more thought tohis looks. He walked very straight, his lips twitching now and then intoa smile, and his gaze soaring over the heads of the ordinary people whomhe passed. For twenty-one years the book of life had proved grimreading, but to-day he had come to that magic page whereon is written inwords grown dim to the eyes of age and experience, but perenniallyshining to the eyes of youth: "And then they were married and livedhappily ever after. "

"Take care there! Look where you are going!" exclaimed an indignantpedestrian as he turned the corner into Cemetery Street. 

"Why, hello, Bean!" he said in surprise, bringing his gaze down to astout man on crutches. "Glad to see you out again!"

"I ain't out, " said the ex-foreman. "I'm all in. I've got rheumatism inevery corner of me. This is what your old bottle factory did for me. "

"Tough luck, " said Dan sympathetically, with what attention he couldspare from a certain doorway half up the square. "First time you'vebeen out?"

"No; I've been to the park once or twice. Last night I went to a show. "He was about to limp on when he paused. "By the way, Lewis, I saw an oldfriend of yours there. You remember that Molloy girl you used to run withup at the factory?"

Dan's mouth closed sharply. Bean's attitude toward the factory girls wasan old grievance with him and had caused words between them on more thanone occasion. 

"Well, I'll be hanged, " went on Bean, undaunted, "if she ain't doing aturn up at the Gaiety! She's a little corker all right, had the wholehouse going. "

"You got another guess coming your way, " said Dan, coldly, "the younglady you're talking about's not on the stage. She's working up here inCemetery Street. I happen to be waiting for her now. "

Bean whistled. 

"Well, the drinks are on me. That girl at the Gaiety is a dead ringer toher. Same classy way of handling herself, same--" Something in Dan's eyesmade him stop. "I got to be going, " he said. "So long. "

Dan waited patiently for ten minutes; then he looked at his watch. Whatcould be keeping Nance? He whistled to Growler, who was making lifemiserable for a cat in a neighboring yard, and strolled past MissBobinet's door; then he returned to the corner. Bean's words had falleninto his dream like a pebble into a tranquil pool. What business had Beanto be remembering the way Nance walked or talked. Restlessly, Dan pacedup and down the narrow sidewalk. When he looked at his watch again, itwas five-thirty. 

Only thirty more minutes in which to transact the most importantbusiness of his life! With a gesture of impatience he strode up to MissBobinet's door and rang the bell. 

A wrinkled old woman, with one hand behind her ear, opened the doorgrudgingly. 

"Nance Molloy?" she quavered in answer to his query. "What you wantwith her?"

"I'd like to speak with her a minute, " said Dan. 

"Are you her brother?"

"No. "

"Insurance man?"

"No. "

The old woman peered at him curiously. 

"Who be you?" she asked. 

"My name's Lewis. "

"Morris?"

"No, Lewis!" shouted Dan, with a restraining hand on Growler, who wassniffing at the strange musty odors that issued from the half-open door. 

"Well, she ain't here, " said the old woman. "Took herself off lastWednesday, without a word to anybody. "

"Last Wednesday!" said Dan, incredulously. "Didn't she send any word?"

"Sent for her money and said she wouldn't be back. You dog, you!" This toGrowler who had insinuated his head inside the door with the fixeddetermination to run down that queer smell if possible. 

Dan went slowly down the steps, and Growler, either offended at havinghad the door slammed in his face, or else sensing, dog-fashion, thesudden change in his master's mood, trotted soberly at his heels. Therewas no time now to go to Calvary Alley to find out what the trouble was. Nothing to do but go back to the factory and worry through the night, with all sorts of disturbing thoughts swarming in his brain. Nance hadbeen all right the Saturday before, a little restless and discontentedperhaps, but scarcely more so than usual. He remembered how he hadcounseled patience, and how hard it had been for him to keep from tellingher then and there what was in his heart. He began to wonder uneasily ifhe had done right in keeping all his plans and dreams to himself. Perhapsif he had taken her into his confidence and told her what he was strivingand saving for, she would have understood better and been happy inwaiting and working with him. For the first time he began to entertaindark doubts concerning those columns of advice to young men in the"Sunday Echo. "

Once back at the factory, he plunged into his work with characteristicthoroughness. It was strangely hot and still, and somewhere out on thehorizon was a grumbling discontent. It was raining hard at eleven o'clockwhen he boarded a car for Butternut Lane, and by the time he reached thePurdy's corner, the lightning was playing sharply in the northwest. 

He let himself in the empty house and felt his way up to his room, but hedid not go to bed. Instead, he sat at his table and with stiff awkwardfingers wrote letter after letter, each of which he tossed impatientlyinto the waste-basket. They were all to Nance, and they all tried in vainto express the pent-up emotion that had filled his heart for years. Somewhere down-stairs a clock struck one, but he kept doggedly at histask. Four o'clock found him still seated at the table, but his tiredhead had dropped on his folded arms, and he slept. 

Outside the wind rose higher and higher, and the lightning split theheavens in blinding flashes. Suddenly a deafening crash of thunder shookthe house, and Dan started to his feet. A moment later the telephonebell rang. 

Half dazed, he stumbled down-stairs and took up the receiver. 

"Hello, hello! Yes, this is Dan Lewis. What? I can't hear you. Who?" Thenhis back stiffened suddenly, and his voice grew tense, "Nance! Where areyou? Is he dead? Who's with you? Don't be scared, I'm coming!" and, leaving the receiver dangling on the cord, he made one leap for the door. 

CHAPTER XXII

IN THE SIGNAL TOWER

It seemed an eternity to Dan, speeding hatless, coatless, breathlessthrough the storm, before he spied the red lights on the lowered gates atthe crossing. Dashing to the signal tower, he took the steps two at atime. The small room was almost dark, but he could see Nance kneeling onthe floor beside the big gatekeeper. 

"Dan! Is it you?" she cried. "He ain't dead yet. I can feel himbreathing. If the doctor would only come!"

"Who'd you call?"

"The first one in the book, Dr. Adair. "

"But he's the big doctor up at the hospital; he won't come. "

"He will too! I told him he had to. And the gates, I got 'em down. Don'tstop to feel his heart, Dan. Call the doctor again!"

"The first thing to do is to get a light, " said Dan. "Ain't there alantern or something?"

"Strike matches, like I did. They are on the window-sill--onlyhurry--Dan, hurry!"

Dan went about his task in his own way, taking time to find an oil lampon the shelf behind the door and deliberately lighting it before he tookhis seat at the telephone. As he waited for the connection, his puzzled, troubled eyes dwelt not on Uncle Jed, but on the crimson boots andfantastic cap of Uncle Jed's companion. 

"Dr. Adair is on the way, " he said quietly, when he hung up the receiver, "and a man is coming from the yards to look after the gates. Is he stillbreathing?"

"Only when I make him!" said Nance, pressing the lungs of the injuredman. "There, Uncle Jed, " she coaxed, "take another deep breath, just onetime. Go on! Do it for Nance. One time more! That's right! Once more!"

But Uncle Jed was evidently very tired of trying to accommodate. Thegasps came at irregular intervals. 

"How long have you been doing this?" asked Dan, kneeling beside her. 

"I don't know. Ever since I came. "

"How did you happen to come?"

"I saw the lightning strike the bell. Oh, Dan! It was awful, the noiseand the flash! Seemed like I 'd never get up the steps. And at first Ithought he was dead and--"

"But who was with you? Where were you going?" interrupted Dan inbewilderment. 

"I was passing--I was going home--I--" Her excited voice broke in a sob, and she impatiently jerked the sleeve of her rain-coat across her eyes. 

In a moment Dan was all tenderness. For the first time he put his armaround her and awkwardly patted her shoulder. 

"There, " he said reassuringly, "don't try to tell me now. See! He'sbreathing more regular! I expect the doctor'll pull him through. "

Nance's hands, relieved of the immediate necessity for action, wereclasping and unclasping nervously. 

"Dan, " she burst out, "I got to tell you something! Birdie Smelts has gotme a place in the 'Follies. ' I been on a couple of nights. I'm going awaywith 'em in the morning. "

Dan looked at her as if he thought the events of the wild night haddeprived her of reason. 

"You!" he said, "going on the stage?" Then as he took it in, he drew awayfrom her suddenly as if he had received a lash across the face. "And youwere going off without talking it over or telling me or anything?"

"I was going to write you, Dan. It was all so sudden. "

His eyes swept her bedraggled figure with stern disapproval. 

"Were you coming from the theater at this time in the morning?"

Uncle Jed moaned slightly, and they both bent over him in instantsolicitude. But there was nothing to do, but wait until the doctorshould come. 

"Where had you been in those crazy clothes?" persisted Dan. 

"I'd been to the carnival ball with Birdie Smelts, " Nance blurted out. "Ididn't know it was going to be like that, but I might 'a' gone anyway. Idon't know. Oh, Dan, I was sick to death of being stuck away in that darkhole, waiting for something to turn up. I told you how it was, but youcouldn't see it. I was bound to have a good time if I died for it!"

She dropped her head on her knees and sobbed unrestrainedly, while thewind shrieked around the shanty, and the rain dashed against thegradually lightening window-pane. After a while she flung back her headdefiantly. 

"_Stop_ looking at me like that, Dan. Lots of girls go on the stage andstay good. "

"I wasn't thinking about the stage, " said Dan. "I was thinking aboutto-night. Who took you girls to that place?"

Nance dried her tears. 

"I can't tell you that, " she said uneasily. 

"Why not?"

"It wouldn't be fair. "

Dan felt the hot blood surge to his head, and the muscles of his handstighten involuntarily. He forgot Uncle Jed; he forgot to listen for thedoctor, or to worry about traffic that would soon be held up in thestreet below. The only man in the world for him at that moment was thescoundrel who had dared to take his little Nance into that infamousdance hall. 

Nance caught his arm and, with a quick gesture, dropped her head on it. 

"Dan, " she pleaded, "don't be mad at me. I promise you I won't go to anymore places like that. I knew it wasn't right all along. But I got to goon with the 'Follies, ' It's the chance I been waiting for all thesemonths. Maybe it's the only one that'll ever come to me! You ain't goingto stand in my way, are you, Dan?"

"Tell me who was with you to-night!"

"No!" she whispered. "I can't. You mustn't ask me. I promise you I won'tdo it again. I don't want to go away leaving you thinking bad of me. "

His clenched hands suddenly began to tremble so violently that he had toclasp them tight to keep her from noticing. 

"I better get used to--to not thinking 'bout you at all, " he said, looking at her with the stern eyes of a young ascetic. 

For a time they knelt there side by side, and neither spoke. For over ayear Dan had been like one standing still on the banks of a muddy stream, his eyes blinded to all but the shining goal opposite, while Nance waslike one who plunges headlong into the current, often losing sight of thegoal altogether, but now and again catching glimpses of it that sent herstumbling, fighting, falling forward. 

At the sound of voices below they both scrambled to their feet. Dr. Adair and the man from the yards came hurriedly up the steps together, the former drawing off his gloves as he came. He was a compact, elderlyman whose keen observant eyes swept the room and its occupants at aglance. He listened to Nance's broken recital of what had happened, cuther short when he had obtained the main facts, and proceeded to examinethe patient. 

"The worst injury is evidently to the right arm and shoulder; you'll haveto help me get his shirt off. No--not that way!"

Dan's hands, so eager to serve, so awkward in the service, fumbled overtheir task, eliciting a groan from the unconscious man. 

"Let me do it!" cried Nance, springing forward. "You hold him up, Dan, Ican get it off. "

"It's a nasty job, " warned the doctor, with a mistrustful glance at theyouthful, tear-stained face. "It may make you sick. "

"What if it does?" demanded Nance, impatiently. 

It was a long and distressing proceeding, and Dan tried not to look ather as she bent in absorbed detachment over her work. But her steadyfinger-touch, and her anticipation of the doctor's needs amazed him. Itrecalled the day at the factory, when she, little more than a childherself, had dressed the wounds of the carrying-in boy. Once she grewsuddenly white and had to hurry to the door and let the wind blow in herface. He started up to follow her, but changed his mind. Instead heprotested with unnecessary vehemence against her resuming the work, butshe would not heed him. 

"That's right!" said the doctor, approvingly. "Stick it out this time andnext time it will not make you sick. Our next move is to get him home. Where does he live?"

"In Calvary Alley, " said Dan, "back of the cathedral. "

"Very good, " said the doctor, "I'll run him around there in my machine assoon as that last hypodermic takes effect. Any family?"

Dan shook his head. 

"He has, too!" cried Nance. "We're his family!"

The doctor shot an amused glance at her over his glasses; then he laid akindly hand on her shoulder. 

"I congratulate him on this part of it. You make a first classlittle nurse. "

"Is he going to get well?" Nance demanded. 

"It is too early to say, my dear. We will hope for the best. I will haveone of the doctors come out from the hospital every day to see him, buteverything will depend on the nursing. "

Nance cast a despairing look at the bandaged figure on the floor; thenshe shot a look of entreaty at Dan. One showed as little response to herappeal as the other. For a moment she stood irresolute; then she slippedout of the room and closed the door behind her. 

For a moment Dan did not miss her. When he did, he left Dr. Adair in themiddle of a sentence and went plunging down the steps in hot pursuit. 

"Nance!" he called, splashing through the mud. "Aren't you going tosay good-by?"

She wheeled on him furiously, a wild, dishevelled, little figure, strungto the breaking point:

"No!" she cried, "I am not going to say good-by! Do you suppose I couldgo away with you acting like that? And who is there to nurse Uncle Jed, I'd like to know, but me? But I want to tell you right now, Dan Lewis, ifever another chance comes to get out of that alley, I'm going to takeit, and there can't anybody in the world stop me!"

CHAPTER XXIII

CALVARY CATHEDRAL

"I don't take no stock in heaven havin' streets of gold, " said Mrs. Snawdor. "It'll be just my luck to have to polish 'em. You needn't tellme if there's all that finery in heaven, they won't keep special angelsto do the dirty work!"

She and Mrs. Smelts were scrubbing down the stairs of Number One, not asa matter of cleanliness, but for the social benefit to be derivedtherefrom. It was a Sunday morning institution with them, and servedquite the same purpose that church-going does for certain ladies in amore exalted sphere. 

"I hope the Bible's true, " said Mrs. Smelts, with a sigh. "Where it saysthere ain't no marryin' nor givin' in marriage. "

"Oh, husbands ain't so worse if you pick 'em right, " Mrs. Snawdor saidwith the conviction of experience. "As fer me, I ain't hesitatin' to sayI like the second-handed ones best. "

"I suppose they are better broke in. But no other woman but me would 'a'looked at Mr. Smelts. "

"You can't tell, " said Mrs. Snawdor. "Think of me takin' Snawdor afterbein' used to Yager an' Molloy! Why, if you'll believe me, Mr. Burks, lyin' there in bed fer four months now, takes more of a hand in helpin'with the childern than Snawdor, who's up an' around. "

"Kin he handle hisself any better? Mr. Burks, I mean. "

"Improvin' right along. Nance has got him to workin' on a patent now. It's got somethin' to do with a engine switch. Wisht you could see therailroad yards she's rigged up on his bed. The childern are plumb crazy'bout it. "

"Nance is gittin' awful pretty, " Mrs. Smelts said. "I kinder 'lowed DanLewis an' her'd be makin' a match before this. "

Mrs. Snawdor gathered her skirts higher about her ankles and transferredher base of operations to a lower step. 

"You can't tell nothin' at all 'bout that girl. She was born with the bit'tween her teeth, an' she keeps it there. No more 'n you git her goin' inone direction than she turns up a alley on you. It's night school now. There ain't a spare minute she ain't peckin' on that ole piece of atype-writer Ike Lavinski loaned her. "

"She's got a awful lot of energy, " sighed Mrs. Smelts. 

"Energy! Why it's somethin' fierce! She ain't content to let nothin'stay the way it is. Wears the childern plumb out washin' 'em an' learnin''em lessons, an' harpin' on their manners. If you believe me, she's gotWilliam J. That hacked he goes behind the door to blow his nose!"

"It's a blessin' she didn't go off with them 'Follies, '" said Mrs. Smelts. "Birdie lost her job over two months ago, an' the Lord knows whatshe's livin' on. The last I heard of her she was sick an' stranded up inCincinnati, an' me without so much as a dollar bill to send her!" AndMrs. Smelts sat down in a puddle of soap-suds and gave herself up to theluxury of tears. 

At this moment a door on the third floor banged, and Nance Molloy, awhite figure against her grimy surroundings, picked her way gingerly downthe slippery steps. Her cheap, cotton skirt had exactly the proper flare, and her tailor-made shirtwaist was worn with the proud distinction of onewho conforms in line, if not in material, to the mode of the day. 

"Ain't she the daisy?" exclaimed Mrs. Snawdor, gaily, and even Mrs. Smelts dried her eyes, the better to appreciate Nance's gala attire. 

"We're too swell to be Methodist any longer!" went on Mrs. Snawdor, teasingly. "We're turned 'Piscopal!"

"You ain't ever got the nerve to be goin' over to the cathedral, " Mrs. Smelts asked incredulously. 

"Sure, why not?" said Nance, giving her hat a more sophisticated tilt. "Salvation's as free there as it is anywhere. "

It was not salvation, however, that was concerning Nance Molloy as shetook her way jauntily out of the alley and, circling the square, joinedthe throng of well-dressed men and women ascending the broad steps of thecathedral. 

From that day when she had found herself back in the alley, like a bit ofdriftwood that for a brief space is whirled out of its stagnant pool, only to be cast back again, she had planned ceaselessly for a means ofescape. During the first terrible weeks of Uncle Jed's illness, herthoughts flew for relief sometimes to Dan, sometimes to Mac. And Dananswered her silent appeal in person, coming daily with his clumsy handsfull of necessities, his strong arms ready to lift, his slow speechquickened to words of hope and cheer. Mac came only in dreams, with gay, careless eyes and empty, useless hands, and lips that asked more thanthey gave. Yet it was around Mac's shining head that the halo of romanceoftenest hovered. 

It was not until Uncle Jed grew better, and Dan's visits ceased, thatNance realized what they had meant to her. To be sure her efforts torestore things to their old familiar footing had been fruitless, for Danrefused stubbornly to overlook the secret that stood between them, andNance, for reasons best known to herself, refused to explain matters. 

But youth reckons time by heart-throbs, and during Uncle Jed'sconvalescence Nance found the clock of life running ridiculously slow. Through Ike Lavinski, whose favor she had won by introducing him to Dr. Adair, she learned of a night school where a business course could betaken without expense. She lost no time in enrolling and, owing to herthorough grounding of the year before, was soon making rapid progress. Every night on her way to school, she walked three squares out of her wayon the chance of meeting Dan coming from the factory, and coming andgoing, she watched the cathedral, wondering if Mac still sang there. 

One Sunday, toward the close of summer, she followed a daring impulse, and went to the morning service. She sat in one of the rear pews and heldher breath as the procession of white-robed men and boys filed into thechoir. Mac Clarke was not among them, and she gave a little sigh ofdisappointment, and wondered if she could slip out again. 

On second thought she decided to stay. Even in the old days when she hadstolen into the cathedral to look for nickels under the seats, she hadbeen acutely aware of "the pretties. " But she had never attended aservice, or seen the tapers lighted, and the vast, cool building, withits flickering lights and disturbing music, impressed her profoundly. 

Presently she began to make discoveries: the meek apologetic persontip-toeing about lowering windows was no other than the pompous andlordly Mason who had so often loomed over her as an avenging deity. Inthe bishop, clad in stately robes, performing mysterious rites beforethe altar, she recognized "the funny old guy" with the bald head, withwhom she had compared breakfast menus on a historical day at thegraded school. 

So absorbed was she in these revelations that she did not notice that shewas sitting down while everybody else was standing up, until a smallblack book was thrust over her shoulder and a white-gloved finger pointedto the top of the page. She rose hastily and tried to follow the service. It seemed that the bishop was reading something which the people allaround her were beseeching the Lord to hear. She didn't wonder that theLord had to be begged to listen. She wasn't going to listen; that was onething certain. 

Then the organ pealed forth, and voices caught up the murmuring words andlifted them and her with them to the great arched ceiling. As long as themusic lasted, she sat spell-bound, but when the bishop began to readagain, this time from a book resting on the out-stretched wings of a bigbrass bird, her attention wandered to the great stained glass windowabove the altar. The reverse side of it was as familiar to her as thesign over Slap Jack's saloon. From the alley it presented opaque blocksof glass above the legend that had been one of the mysteries of herchildhood. Now as she looked, the queer figures became shining angelswith lilies in their hands, and she made the amazing discovery that "Evolsi dog, " seen from the inside, spelled "God is Love. "

She sat quite still, pondering the matter. The bishop and the musicand even Mac were for the time completely forgotten. Was the worldfull of things like that, puzzling and confused from the outside, andsimple and easy from within? Within what? Her mind groped uncertainlyalong a strange path. So God was love? Why hadn't the spectacled ladytold her so that time in the juvenile court instead of writing downher foolish answer? But love had to do with sweethearts and dimenovels and plays on the stage. How could God be that? Maybe it meantthe kind of love Mr. Demry had for his little daughter, or the lovethat Dan had for his mother, or the love she had for the Snawdor babythat died. Maybe the love that was good was God, and the love that wasbad was the devil, maybe--

Her struggle with these wholly new and perplexing problems wasinterrupted by the arrival of a belated worshiper, who glided into theseat beside her and languidly knelt in prayer. Nance's attentionpromptly leaped from moral philosophy to clothes. Her quick eyes madeinstant appraisal of the lady's dainty costume, then rested in startledsurprise on her lowered profile. The straight delicate features, slightlyforeign, the fair hair rippling from the neck, were disconcertinglyfamiliar. But when Nance saw her full face, with the petulant mouth andwrinkled brow, the impression vanished. 

After a long time the service came to an end, and just as Nance waswaiting to pass out, she heard some one say:

"When do you expect your son home, Mrs. Clarke? We miss him in thechoir. "

And the fair-haired lady in front of her looked up and smiled, and allher wrinkles vanished as she said:

"We expect him home before next Sunday, if the naughty boy doesn'tdisappoint us again!"

Nance waited to hear no more, but fled into the sunlight and around thecorner, hugging her secret. She was not going to let Mr. Mac see her, sheassured herself; she was just going to see him, and hear him sing. 

When the next Sunday morning came, it found her once more hurrying up thebroad steps of the cathedral. She was just in time, for as she slippedinto a vacant pew, the notes of the organ began to swell, and from a sidedoor came the procession of choir boys, headed by Mac Clarke carrying agreat cross of gold. 

Nance, hiding behind the broad back of the man in front of her, watchedthe procession move into the chancel, and saw the members of the choirfile into their places. She had no interest now in the bishop's robes orthe lighted tapers or cryptic inscriptions. Throughout the long serviceher attention was riveted on the handsome, white-robed figure which satin a posture of bored resignation, wearing an expression of Christianmartyrdom. 

When the recessional sounded, she rose with the rest of the congregation, still keeping behind the protecting back of the man in front. But whenshe saw Mac lift the shining cross and come toward her down the chancelsteps at the head of the singing procession, something made her movesuddenly to the end of the pew, straight into the shaft of light thatstreamed through the great west window. 

Mac, with his foot on the lowest step, paused for the fraction of asecond, and the cross that he held swayed slightly. Then he caught stepagain and moved steadily forward. 

Nance hurried away before the benediction. She was never going to do itagain, she promised herself repeatedly. And yet, how wonderful it hadbeen! Straight over the heads of the congregation for their eyes to meetlike that, and for him to remember as she was remembering!

For three weeks she kept her promise and resolutely stayed away from thecathedral. One would have to be "goin' on nineteen" and live in CalvaryAlley to realize the heroic nature of her moral struggle. Victory mighthave been hers in the end, had not Dan Lewis for the first time in years, failed one Saturday to spend his half-holiday with her. He had come oflate, somber and grimly determined to give her no peace until he knew thetruth. But Dan, even in that mood, was infinitely better than no Dan atall. When he sent her word that he was going with some of the men fromthe factory up the river for a swim, she gave her shoulders a defiantshrug, and set to work to launder her one white dress and stove-polishher hat, with the pleasing results we have already witnessed through theeyes of Mrs. Snawdor and Mrs. Smelts. 

There is no place where a flirtation takes quicker root or matures morerapidly than in ecclesiastical soil. From the moment Nance entered thecathedral on that third Sunday, she and Mac were as acutely aware of eachother's every move as if they had been alone together in the garden ofEden. At first she tried to avert her eyes, tried not to see hisinsistent efforts to attract her attention, affected not to know that hewas singing to her, and watching her with impatient delight. 

Then the surging notes of the organ died away, the bishop ascended thepulpit, and the congregation settled down to hear the sermon. Fromthat time on Nance ceased to be discreet. There was glance for glance, and smile for smile, and the innumerable wireless messages that youthhas exchanged since ardent eyes first sought each other acrossforbidden spaces. 

It was not until the end of the sermon that Nance awoke to the fact thatit was high time for Cinderella to be speeding on her way. Seizing amoment when the choir's back was turned to the congregation, she slippednoiselessly out of the cathedral and was fleeing down the steps when shecame face to face with Monte Pearce. 

"Caught at last!" he exclaimed, planting himself firmly in her way. "I've been playing watchdog for Mac for three Sundays. What are youdoing in town?"

"In town?"

"Yes; we thought you were on the road with the 'Follies. ' When did youget back?"

"You're seeking information, Mr. Monte Carlo, " said Nance, with a smile. "Let me by. I've got to go home. "

"I'll go with you. Where do you live?"

"Under my hat. "

"Well, I don't know a nicer place to be. " Monte laughed and looked ather and kept on laughing, until she felt herself blushing up to theroots of her hair. 

"Honest, Mr. Monte, I got to go on, " she said appealingly. "I'm in noend of a hurry. "

"I can go as fast as you can, " said Monte, his cane tapping each step ashe tripped briskly down beside her. "I've got my orders from Mac. I'm tostay with you, if you won't stay with me. Which way?"

In consternation for fear the congregation should be dismissed before shecould get away, and determined not to let him know where she lived, shejumped aboard a passing car. 

"So be it!" said her plump companion, settling himself comfortably on theback seat beside her. "Now tell your Uncle Monte all about it!"

"There's nothing to tell!" declared Nance, with the blush coming back. She was finding it distinctly agreeable to be out alone like this with agrandly sophisticated young gentleman who wore a light linen suit withshoes to match, and whose sole interest seemed to center upon her andher affairs. 

"But you know there is!" he persisted. "What made you give us the shakethat night of the ball?"

Nance refused to say; so he changed the subject. 

"How's Miss Birdie?"

"Give it up. Haven't seen her since you have. "

"What? Didn't you go on with the show that next morning?"

"No. "

"And you've been in town all summer?"

She nodded, and her companion gave a low, incredulous whistle. 

"Well, I'll be darned!" he said. "And old Mac sending letters andtelegrams every few minutes and actually following the 'Follies'to Boston!"

"Birdie was with 'em up to two months ago, " said Nance. 

"Mac wasn't after Birdie!" said Monte. "He hasn't had but one idea in hiscranium since that night of the carnival ball. I never saw him so crazyabout a girl as he is about you. "

"Yes, he is!" scoffed Nance, derisively, but she let Monte run on atlength, painting in burning terms the devastating extent of Mac'spassion, his despair at losing her, his delight at finding her again, andhis impatience for an interview. 

When Monte finished she looked at him sidewise out of herhalf-closed eyes. 

"Tell him I've gone on a visit to my rich aunt out to the sea-shorein Kansas. "

"Give him another show, " coaxed Monte. "We were all a bit lit up thatnight at the ball. "

"No, we weren't either!" Nance flashed. "I hadn't had a thing, but oneglass of beer, and you know it! I hate your old fizz-water!"

"Well, make it up with Mac. He's going back to college next month, andhe's wild to see you. "

"Tell him I haven't got time. Tell him I'm studying instrumental. "

Nance was fencing for time. Her cool, keen indifference gave littleindication of the turmoil that was going on within. If she could manageto see Mac without letting him know where she lived, without Dan'sfinding it out--

The car compassed the loop and started on the return trip. 

"Where do we get off?" asked Monte. 

"I'm not getting off anywhere until after you do. "

"I've got lots of nickels. "

"I've got lots of time!" returned Nance, regardless of her former haste. 

At Cathedral Square, Monte rang the bell. 

"Have it your own way, " he said good-naturedly. "But do send amessage to Mac. "

Nance let him get off the back platform; then she put her head out ofthe window. 

"You tell him, " she called, "that he can't kill two birds with onestone!"

CHAPTER XXIV

BACK AT CLARKE'S

The promotion of Uncle Jed from the bed to a pair of crutches broughtabout two important changes in the house of Snawdor. First, a financialpanic caused by the withdrawal of his insurance money, and, second, alightening of Nance's home duties that sent her once more into the worldto seek a living. 

By one of those little ironies in which life seems to delight, the onlyopportunity that presented itself lay directly in the path of temptation. A few days after her interview with Monte Pearce, Dan came to her with anoffer to do some office work at the bottle factory. The regularstenographer was off on a vacation, and a substitute was wanted for themonth of September. 

"Why, I thought you'd be keen about it, " said Dan, surprised at herhesitation. 

"Oh! I'd like it all right, but--"

"You needn't be afraid to tackle it, " Dan urged. "Mr. Clarke's not asfierce as he looks; he'd let you go a bit slow at first. "

"He wouldn't have to! I bet I've got as much speed now as the girl he'shad. It's not the work. "

"I know how you feel about the factory, " said Dan, "and I wouldn't wantyou to go back in the finishing room. The office is different. You takemy word for it; it's as nice a place as you could find. "

They were standing on the doorless threshold of Number One, under thefan-shaped arch through which the light had failed to shine for twentyyears. From the room on the left came the squeak of Mr. Demry's fiddleand the sound of pattering feet, synchronizing oddly with the lugubrioushymn in which Mrs. Smelts, in the room opposite, was giving vent to hermelancholy. 

Nance, eager for her chance, yearning for financial independence, obsessed by the desire to escape from the dirt and disorder and confusionabout her, still hesitated. 

"If you're afraid I'm going to worry you, " said Dan, fumbling with hiscap, "I can keep out of your way all right. "

In an instant her impulsive hand was on his arm. 

"You shut up, Dan Lewis!" she said sharply. "What makes me want to takethe job most is our coming home together every night like we used to. "

Dan's eyes, averted until now, lifted with sudden hope. 

"But I got a good reason for not coming, " she went on stubbornly. "Ithasn't got anything to do with you or the work. "

"Can't you tell me, Nance?"

The flicker of hope died out of his face as she shook her head. He lookeddown the alley for a moment; then he turned toward her with decision:

"See here, Nance, " he said earnestly, "I don't know what your reason is, but I know that this is one chance in a hundred. I want you to take thisjob. If I come by for you to-morrow morning, will you be ready?"

Still she hesitated. 

"Let me decide it for you, " he insisted, "will you, Nance?"

She looked up into his earnest eyes, steadfast and serious as a collie's. 

"All right!" she said recklessly, "have it your own way!"

The first day in Mr. Clarke's office was one of high tension. Added tothe trepidation of putting her newly acquired business knowledge to apractical test, was the much more disturbing possibility that at anymoment Mac might happen upon the scene. Just what she was going to do andsay in such a contingency she did not know. Once when she heard the dooropen cautiously, she was afraid to lift her eyes. When she did, surprisetook the place of fear. 

"Why, Mrs. Smelts!" she cried. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Birdie's mother, faded and anxious, and looking unfamiliar in bonnet andcape, was evidently embarrassed by Nance's unexpected presence. 

"He sent for me, " she said, nervously, twitching at the fringe on hercape. "I wrote to his wife, but he sent word fer me to come here an' seehim at ten o'clock. Is it ten yet?"

"Mr. Clarke sent for _you_?" Nance began incredulously; then rememberingthat a stenographer's first business is to attend to her own, she crossedthe room with quite a professional manner and tapped lightly on the doorof the inner office. 

For half an hour the usually inaccessible president of the bottle factoryand the scrub woman from Calvary Alley held mysterious conclave; then thedoor opened again, and Mrs. Smelts melted into the outer passage assilently as she had come. 

Nance, while frankly curious, had little time to indulge in idlesurmise. All her faculties were bent on mastering the big moderntype-writer that presented such different problems from the ancientmachine on which she had pounded out her lessons. She didn't like thissensitive, temperamental affair that went off half-cocked at herslightest touch, and did things on its own account that she was in thehabit of doing herself. 

Her first dictation left her numb with terror. She heard Mr. Clarkerepeating with lightning rapidity phrases which she scarcelycomprehended: "Enclose check for amount agreed upon. " "Matter settledonce and for all. " "Any further annoyance to be punished to full extentof the law. "

"Shall I address an envelope?" she asked, glancing at the "Dear Madam" atthe top of the page. 

"No, " said Mr. Clarke, sharply, "I'll attend to that. "

Other letters followed, and she was soon taking them with considerablespeed. When mistakes occurred they could usually be attributed to thegraded school which, during its brief chance at Nance, had been moreconcerned in teaching her the names and the lengths of the rivers ofSouth America than in teaching her spelling. 

At the noon hour Mr. Clarke departed, and she stood by the window eatingher lunch and watching the men at work on the new wing. The old finishingroom was a thing of the past, and Dan's dream of a light, well-ventilatedworkroom for the girls was already taking definite form. She could seehim now in the yard below, a blue-print in his hand, explaining to agroup of workmen some detail of the new building. One old glass-blower, peering at the plan through heavy, steel-rimmed spectacles, had his armacross Dan's shoulder. Nance smiled tenderly. Dear Dan! Everybody likedhim--even those older men from the furnace-room who had seen him promotedover their heads. She leaned forward impulsively and called to him. 

"Danny!" she cried, "here's an apple. Catch!"

He caught it dexterously in his left hand, gave her a casual nod, thenwent gravely on with the business in hand. Nance sighed and turned awayfrom the window. 

In the afternoon the work went much easier. She was getting used to Mr. Clarke's quick, nervous speech and abrupt manner. She was beginning tothink in sentences instead of words. All was going famously when a quickstep sounded in the passage without, followed by a gaily whistled tune, and the next instant the door behind her was flung open. 

Mr. Clarke went steadily on with his dictation, but the new stenographerceased to follow. With bent head and lips caught between her teeth, shemade futile efforts to catch up, but she only succeeded in makingmatters worse. 

"That will do for this afternoon, " said Mr. Clarke, seeing her confusion. "Make a clear copy of that last letter and put it on my desk. " Then heturned in his chair and glared over his shoulder. "Well, Mac!" he said, "I've waited for you just one hour and thirty-five minutes. "

"Dead sorry, Dad. Didn't know it was so late, " said the new-comer, blithely. "How long before you are going home?"

"Ten minutes. I've got to go over to the new building first. Don't gountil I return. There's something I want to see you about. "

Nance heard the door close as Mr. Clarke went out; then she waited in atremor, half trepidation, half glee, for Mac to recognize her. He wasmoving about restlessly, first in one office, then in the other, and shecould feel his bright inquisitive eyes upon her from different angles. But she kept her face averted, changing her position as he changed his. Presently he came to a halt near her and began softly to whistle thelittle-bear dance from the "Rag-Time Follies. " She smiled before she knewit, and the next instant he was perched on the corner of her desk, demanding rapturously to know what she was doing there, and swearing thathe had recognized her the moment he entered the room. 

"Let go my hand, Mr. Mac!" she implored in laughing confusion. 

"I'm afraid to! You might give me the slip again. I've been scouring thetown for you and to think I should find you here!"

"Look out!" warned Nance. "You're upsetting the ink-bottle!"

"What do I care? Gee, this is luck! You ought to see my new racer, aregular peach! Will you come out with me sometime?"

"Will you let me run it?"

"I'll let you do anything you like with anything I've got, " he declaredwith such ardor that she laughed and regretted it the next moment. 

"Now look here, Mr. Mac!" she said, severely, "you touch me again, and Iquit to-night. See?"

"I'll be good. I'll do anything you say if you'll just stay andplay with me. "

"Play nothing! I've got work to do. "

"Work be hanged! Do you suppose when I haven't seen you for four monthsthat I'm not going to claim my inning?"

"Well, I want to tell you right here, " she said, shaking a warning pencilin his face, "that I mean what I say about your behaving yourself. "

Mac caught the end of the pencil and held it while their eyes challengedeach other. 

"So be it!" he said. "I promise to be a model of discretion. Nance, I'vebeen mad about you! Did Monte tell you--"

"Mr. Monte didn't tell me anything I wanted to hear, " she said in hercool, keen way, as she got the imperiled ink-well to a place of safety, and straightened the other articles on the desk. 

"You wouldn't be so down on a fellow if you knew how hard hit I am, "persisted Mac. "Besides, I'm in for an awful row with the governor. Youmay see my scalp fly past the window in less than ten minutes. "

"What's the row about?"

"Same old thing. I am the original devil for getting found out. " Forthe space of a minute he gloomily contemplated a spot in the carpet;then he shrugged his shoulders, rammed his hands in his pockets, andbegan to whistle. 

"The governor'll fork out, " he said. "He always does. Say, Nance, youhaven't said a word about my moustache. "

"Let's see it, " said Nance in giggling derision. "Looks like a baby'seyebrow. Does it wash off?"

A step in the hall sent them flying in opposite directions, Nance back toher desk, and Mac into the inner office, where his father found him amoment later, apparently absorbed in a pamphlet on factory inspection. 

When Nance started home at six o'clock, she found Dan waiting at his oldpost beside the gas-pipe. 

"It's like old times, " he said happily, as he piloted her through theout-pouring throng. "I remember the first night we walked home together. You weren't much more than a kid. You had on a red cap with a tassel toit. Three years ago the tenth of last May. Wouldn't think it, would you?"

"Think what?" she asked absently. 

"Tired?" he asked anxiously. "Is the work going to be too heavy?"

She shook her head impatiently. 

"No, the work's all right. But--but I wish you hadn't made me comeback, Dan. "

"Stick it out for a week, " he urged, "and then if you want to stop, Iwon't say a word. "

She looked up at him quizzically and gave a short enigmatic laugh. 

"That's my trouble, " she said, "if I stick it out for a week, I won't bewanting to quit!"

CHAPTER XXV

MAC

Nance's prophecy regarding herself was more than fulfilled. Whateverscruples had assailed her at the start were soon overthrown by theon-rushing course of events. That first month in Mr. Clarke's officeproved to be a time of delightful madness. There were daily meetings withMac at the noon hour, stolen chats on street corners, thrilling supperswith him and Monte at queer cafes, and rides after dark in that wonderfulracer that proved the most enticing of playthings. 

Dan was as busy as Mac was idle; Mr. Clarke was gloomy and preoccupied;Mrs. Snawdor was in bed when Nance left home in the morning, and gone towork when she returned in the evening. The days flashed by in a glorioussuccession of forbidden joys, with nobody to interrupt the furiousprogress of affairs. 

Half of her salary Nance gave to her stepmother, and the other half shespent on clothes. She bought with taste and discrimination, measuringeverything by the standard set up by her old idol, Miss Stanley at ForestHome. The result was that she soon began to look very much like thewell-dressed women with whom she touched elbows on the avenue. 

She had indeed got the bit between her teeth, and she ran at full tilt, secure in the belief that she had full control of the situation. As longas she gave satisfaction in her work, she told herself, and "behavedright, " she could go and come as she liked, and nobody would be theworse for it. 

She did not realize that her scoffing disbelief in Mac's avowals, and hergay indifference were the very things that kept him at fever heat. He wasnot used to being thwarted, and this high-handed little working-girl, with her challenging eyes and mocking laugh, who had never heard of theproprieties, and yet denied him favors, was the first person he had everknown who refused absolutely to let him have his own way. With a boy'simpetuous desire he became obsessed by the idea of her. When he was notwith her, he devised schemes to remind her of him, making love to her byproxy in a dozen foolish, whimsical ways. When it was not flowers orcandy, it was a string of nonsense verses laid between the pages of hertype-writer paper, sometimes a clever caricature of himself or Monte, andalways it was love notes in the lining of her hat, in her gloves, in herpocket-book. She was afraid to raise her umbrella for fear a rain oftender missives would descend therefrom. Once he gave her a handsomejeweled bracelet which she wore under her sleeve. But he got hard upbefore the week was over and borrowed it back and pawned it. 

Of two things Nance succeeded in keeping him in ignorance. During alltheir escapades he never discovered where she lived, and he neversuspected her friendship for Dan Lewis. He was not one to concern himselfwith troublesome details. The pleasure of the passing moment was his soleaim in life. 

And Nance, who ordinarily scorned subterfuge and hated a secret, succeeded not only in keeping him in ignorance of Dan; but with evengreater strategy managed to keep Dan in complete ignorance of the wholesituation. Dan, to be sure, took his unconscious revenge. His kind, puzzled eyes haunted her dreams, and the thought of him proved the onedisturbing element in these halcyon days. In vain she told herself thathe was an old fogy, that he had Sunday-school notions, that he wouldn'tbe able to see anything but wrong in a harmless flirtation that would endwith Mac's return to college. But would it end? That was a question Nancewas beginning to ask herself with curious misgiving. 

The last of the month rolled round with incredible swiftness. It broughtto Nance not only an end to all her good times, but the dishearteningknowledge that she would soon be out of employment again with no moneysaved, and under the self-imposed necessity of making a clean breast ofher misdeeds to Dan Lewis. 

On the Saturday before Mac's intended departure, as she sat at her deskruefully facing the situation, he rushed into the office. 

"Has a mean-looking little Jew been in here this morning?" he demandedbreathlessly. 

"Nobody's been here, " said Nance. 

"Gloree!" said Mac, collapsing into a chair. "He gave me a scare! Wonderif he 'phoned!"

"Mr. Clarke's been out all morning. These are the people who called up. "

Mac ran his eye hurriedly down the list and sighed with relief. Then hegot up and went to the window and stood restlessly tapping the pane. 

"I've a good notion to go East to-night, " he said, half to himself, "nouse waiting until Monday. "

Nance glanced at him quickly. 

"What's up?" she asked. 

"Money, as usual, " said Mac in an aggrieved tone. "Just let me get readyto leave town, and fellows I never heard of turn up with bills. I couldstand off the little fellows, but Meyers is making no end of a stew. Heholds a note of mine for five hundred and sixty dollars. It was dueyesterday, and he swore that if I didn't smoke up by noon to-day, he'dcome to the governor. "

"Won't he give you an extension?"

"He's given me two already. It's the money I lost last spring at theraces. That's the reason I can't get it out of the governor. It looks asif it were about time for little Willie to take to the tall timbers. "

Nance got up from her desk and joined him at the window. There wassomething she had been burning to say to him for ten days, but it wassomething she found it very hard to say. He might tell her it was none ofher business; he might even not like her any more. 

"See here, Mr. Mac, " she said, bracing herself for the ordeal, "did itever strike you that you spend a lot of money that don't belong to you?"

"It'll all be mine some day, " said Mac reassuringly. "If the governorwould listen to mother, we'd never have these financial rackets. Sheknows that it takes a lot for a fellow to live right. "

"It takes a lot more for him to live wrong, " said Nance, stoutly. "You get a whacking big allowance; when you get to the end of it, whydon't you do like some of the rest of us--go without the things youcan't pay for?"

"I am going to, " said Mac as if the idea was a new one. "Once I getsquared up, you bet I'll stay so. But that doesn't help me out of thismess. The money has got to come from somewhere, and I tell you I haven'tgot a sou!"

Nance had never seen him so perturbed. He usually approached theseconflicts with his father with a passing grimace, exhibited sufficientrepentance to get what he wanted, and emerged more debonair than ever. It was disturbing to see him so serious and preoccupied. 

"I bet your father'd help you if he thought you'd make a newstart, " she said. 

Mac shook his head. 

"He would have a month ago. But he's got it in for me now. He believes anidiotic story that was cocked up about me, and he's just waiting for mynext slip to spring a mine on me. I got to keep him from finding outuntil I'm gone; that's all there is to it!"

He fumbled in his pocket for a match and instead drew out a bank-note. 

"By George! here's a lonesome five-spot I didn't know I had! Ibelieve I'll play it on the races and see what it'll do for me. Maybeit's a mascot. "

His momentary depression was gone, and he was eager to be off. ButNance stood between him and the door, and there was a dangerous lightin her eyes. 

"Do you know, " she said, "I've a good mind to tell you what Ithink of you?"

He caught her hand. "Do, Nance! And make it nice. It's going to be no endof a grind to leave you. Say something pretty that I can live on 'tilChristmas. Tell me I'm the sweetest fellow that ever lived. Go on. Makelove to me, Nance!"

"I think you are a short-sport!" she burst forth. "Any fellow that'llgo on making debts when he can't pay his old ones, that'll get thingsin a muddle and run off and let somebody else face the racket is acoward--I think--"

"Help! Help!" cried Mac, throwing up an arm in pretended defense, andlaughing at her flashing eyes and blazing cheeks. "By jinks, I don't knowwhether you look prettiest when you are mad or when you are glad. If youdon't stop this minute I'll have to kiss you!"

The anger in Nance's face faded into exasperation. She felt suddenly hotand uncomfortable and a little ashamed of her violence. She had neitheroffended him nor humiliated him; she had simply amused him. Tears ofchagrin sprang to her eyes, and she turned away abruptly. 

"Nance!" Mac demanded, with quick concern, "you surely aren't crying? Whythe very idea! It makes me perfectly miserable to see girls cry. Youmustn't, you know. Look at me, Nance! Smile at me this minute!"

But Nance's head was down on her desk, and she was past smiling. 

"I'll do anything you say!" cried Mac, dropping on his knees beside her. "I'll 'fess up to the governor. I'll go on the water-wagon. I'll cut outthe races. I'll be a regular little tin god if you'll only promise to begood to me. "

"Good to you nothing!" said Nance, savagely, lifting a tear-stained, earnest face. "What right have I got to be anything to you? Haven't Ibeen letting you spend the money on me that wasn't yours? I've been asbad as you have, every bit. "

"Oh, rot!" said Mac, hotly. "You've been an angel. There isn't anothergirl in the world that's as much fun as you are and yet on the squareevery minute. "

"It isn't on the square!" contradicted Nance, twisting her wethandkerchief into a ball. "Sneaking around corners and doing things onthe sly. I am ashamed to tell you where I live, or who my people are, and you are ashamed to have your family know you are going with me. Whenever I look at your father and see him worrying about you, or thinkof your mother--"

"Yes, you think of everybody but me. You hold me at arm's length andknock on me and say things to me that nobody else would dare to say! Andthe worse you treat me, the more I want to take you in my arms and runaway with you. Can't you love me a little, Nance? Please!"

He was close to her, with his ardent face on a level with hers. He wasnever more irresistible than when he wanted something, especially aforbidden something, and in the course of his twenty-one years he hadnever wanted anything so much as he wanted Nance Molloy. 

She caught her breath and looked away. It was very hard to say what sheintended, with him so close to her. His eloquent eyes, his tremulouslips were very disconcerting. 

"Mr. Mac, " she whispered intently, "why don't you tell your fathereverything, and promise him some of the things you been promising me? Whydon't you make a clean start and behave yourself and stop giving 'em allthis trouble?"

"And if I do, Nance? Suppose I do it for you, what then?"

For a long moment their eyes held each other. These two young, undisciplined creatures who had started life at opposite ends of thesocial ladder, one climbing up and the other climbing down, had metmidway, and the fate of each trembled in the balance. 

"And if I do?" Mac persisted, hardly above his breath. 

Nance's eyelids fluttered ever so slightly, and the next instant, Mac hadcrushed her to him and smothered her protests in a passion of kisses. 

CHAPTER XXVI

BETWEEN TWO FIRES

When Mr. Clarke returned from luncheon, it was evident that he was in nomood to encourage a prodigal's repentance. For half an hour Nance heardhis voice rising and falling in angry accusation; then a door slammed, and there was silence. She waited tensely for the next sound, but it waslong in coming. Presently some one began talking over the telephone inlow, guarded tones, and she could not be sure which of the two it was. Then the talking ceased; the hall door of the inner office opened andclosed quietly. 

Nance went to the window and saw Mac emerge from the passage below andhurry across the yard to the stables. His cap was over his eyes, and hishands were deep in his pockets. Evidently he had had it out with hisfather and was going to stay over and meet his difficulties. Her eyesgrew tender as she watched him. What a spoiled boy he was, in spite ofhis five feet eleven! Always getting into scrapes and letting otherpeople get him out! But he was going to face the music this time, and hewas doing it for her! If only she hadn't let him kiss her! A wave ofshame made her bury her hot cheeks in her palms. 

She was startled from her reverie by a noise at the door. It was DanLewis, looking strangely worried and preoccupied. 

"Hello, Nance, " he said, without lifting his eyes. "Did Mr. Clarke leavea telegram for me?"

"Not with me. Perhaps it is on his table. Want me to see?"

"No, I'll look, " Dan answered and went in and closed the door behind him. 

Nance looked at the closed door in sudden apprehension. What was thematter with Dan? What had he found out? She heard him moving about in theempty room; then she heard him talking over the telephone. When he cameout, he crossed over to where she was sitting. 

"Nance, " he began, still with that uneasy manner, "there's something I'vegot to speak to you about. You won't take it amiss?"

"Cut loose, " said Nance, with an attempt at lightness, but her heartbegan to thump uncomfortably. 

"You see, " Dan began laboriously. "I'm sort of worried by some talkthat's been going on 'round the factory lately. It hadn't come direct tome until to-day, but I got wind of it every now and then. I know it'snot true, but it mustn't go on. There's one way to stop it. Do you knowwhat it is?"

Nance shook her head, and he went on. 

"You and I have been making a mess of things lately. Maybe it's been myfault, I don't know. You see a fellow gets to know a lot of things a nicegirl don't know. And the carnival ball business--well--I was scared foryou, Nance, and that's the plain truth. "

"I know, Dan, " she said impatiently. "I was a fool to go that time, but Inever did it again. "

Dan fingered the papers on the desk. 

"I ain't going to rag about that any more. But I can't have 'em sayingthings about you around the factory. You know how I feel about you--how Ialways have felt--Nance I want you to marry me. "

Nance flashed a look at him, questioning, eager, uncertain; then her eyesfell. How could she know that behind his halting sentences a paean oflove was threatening to burst the very confines of his inarticulate soul?She only saw an awkward young workman in his shirt sleeves, with a smudgeacross his cheek and a wistful look in his eyes, who knew no more aboutmaking love than he knew about the other graces of life. 

"I've saved enough money, " he went on earnestly, "to buy a little housein the country somewhere. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Nance's glance wandered to the tall gas-pipe that had been theirunromantic trysting place. Then she closed her eyes and pressed herfingers against them to keep back the stinging tears. If Dan loved her, why didn't he say beautiful things to her, why didn't he take her in hisarms as Mac had done, and kiss away all those fears of herself and of thefuture that crowded upon her? With her head on his shoulder she couldhave sobbed out her whole confession and been comforted, but now--

"You care for me, don't you, Nance?" Dan asked with a sharp note ofanxiety in his voice. 

"Of course I care!" she said irritably. "But I don't want to get marriedand settle down. I want to get out and see the world. When you talk abouta quiet little house in the country, I want to smash every window in it!"

Dan slipped the worn drawing he had in his hand back into his pocket. Itwas no time to discuss honeysuckle porches. 

"We don't have to go to the country, " he said patiently. "I just thoughtit was what you wanted. We can stay here, or we can go to another town ifyou like. All I want is to make you happy, Nance. "

For a moment she sat with her chin on her palms, staring straight ahead;then she turned toward him with sudden resolution. 

"What's the talk you been hearing about me?" she demanded. 

"There's no use going into that, " he said. "It's a lie, and I mean tostamp it out if I have to lick every man in the factory to do it. "

"Was it--about Mac Clarke?"

"Who dared bring it to you?" he asked fiercely. 

"What are they saying, Dan?"

"That you been seen out with him on the street, that you ride withhim after night, and that he comes down here every day at the noonhour to see you. "

"Is that all?"

"Ain't it enough?"

"Well, it's true!" said Nance, defiantly. "Every word of it. If anybodycan find any real harm in what I've done, they are welcome to it!"

"It's true?" gasped Dan, his hands gripping a chair-back. "And you nevertold me? Has he--has he made love to you, Nance?"

"Why, he makes love to everybody. He makes love to his mother when hewants to get something out of her. What he says goes in one ear andout the other with me. But I like him and I ain't ashamed to say so. He's give me the best time I ever had in my life, and you bet I don'tforget it. "

"Will you answer me one thing more?" demanded Dan, sternly. 

"Yes; I ain't afraid to answer any question you can ask. "

"Was it Clarke that took you to the carnival ball?"

"Him and a fellow named Monte Pearce. "

"Just you three?"

"No; Birdie Smelts was along. "

Dan brushed his hand across his brow as if trying to recall something. 

"Birdie come here that day, " he said slowly. "She wanted to see Clarkefor a friend of hers. Nance did he--did he ever ask you to kiss him?"

"Yes. "

Dan groaned. 

"Why didn't you tell me all this before, Nance? Why didn't you give me achance to put you on your guard?"

"I _was_ on my guard!" she cried, with rising anger. "I don't needanybody to take care of me!"

But Dan was too absorbed in his own thoughts to heed her. 

"It's a good thing he's going away in a couple of days, " he said grimly. "If ever the blackguard writes to you, or dares to speak to you again--"

Nance had risen and was facing him. 

"Who's to stop him?" she asked furiously. "I'm the one to say the word, and not you!"

"And you won't let me take it up with him?"

"No!"

"And you mean to see him again, and to write to him?"

Nance had a blurred vision of an unhappy prodigal crossing the factoryyard. He had kept his part of their compact; she must keep hers. 

"I will if I want to, " she said rather weakly. 

Dan's face flushed crimson. 

"All right, " he said, "keep it up if you like. But I tell you now, Iain't going to stay here to see it. I'm going to clear out!"

He turned toward the door, and she called after him anxiously:

"Dan, come back here this minute. Where are you going?"

He paused in the doorway, his jaw set and a steady light in his eyes. 

"I am going now, " he said, "to apologize to the man I hit yesterday fortelling the truth about you!"

That night Nance shed more tears than she had ever shed in the wholecourse of her life before; but whether she wept for Mac, or Dan, orfor herself, she could not have said. She heard the sounds die out ofthe alley one by one, the clanging cars at the end of the streetbecame less frequent; only the drip, drip, drip from a broken gutteroutside her window, and the rats in the wall kept her company. All daySunday she stayed in-doors, and came to the office on Monday pale anda bit listless. 

Early as it was, Mr. Clarke was there before her, pacing the floor inevident perturbation. 

"Come in here a moment, Miss Molloy, " he said, before she had taken offher hat. "I want a word with you. "

Nance followed him into the inner room with a quaking heart. 

"I want you to tell me, " he said, waiving all preliminaries, "just whowas in this room Saturday afternoon after I left. "

"Dan Lewis. And of course, Mr. Mac. You left him here. "

"Who else?"

"Nobody. "

"But there must have been, " insisted Mr. Clarke, vehemently. "A man, giving my name, called up our retail store between two and two-thirtyo'clock, and asked if they could cash a check for several hundreddollars. He said it was too late to go to the bank, and he wanted themoney right away. Later a messenger brought my individual check, torn outof this check-book, which evidently hasn't been off my desk, and receivedthe money. The cashier thought the signature looked queer and called meup yesterday. I intend to leave no stone unturned until I get at thetruth of the matter. You were the only person here all afternoon. Tellme, in detail, exactly what happened. "

Nance recalled as nearly as she could, the incidents of the afternoon, with careful circuits around her own interviews with Mac and Dan. 

"Could any one have entered the inner office between their visits, without your knowing it?" asked Mr. Clarke, who was following herclosely. 

"Oh, yes, sir; only there wasn't time. You see Mr. Mac was just going outthe factory yard as Dan come in here. "

"Did either of them use my telephone?"

"Both of them used it. "

"Could you hear what was said?"

"No; the door was shut both times. "

"Did Lewis enter through the other room, or through the hall?"

"He come through the other room and asked me if you had left atelegram for him. "

"Then he came in here?"

"Yes, sir. "

Mr. Clarke's brows were knitted in perplexity. He took up the telephone. 

"Send Lewis up here to my office, " he directed. "What? Hasn't come inyet?" he repeated incredulously. "That's strange, " he said grimly, halfto himself. "The first time I ever knew him to be late. "

Something seemed to tighten suddenly about Nance's heart. Could it bepossible that Mr. Clarke was suspecting Dan of signing that check?She watched his nervous hands as they ran over the morning mail. Hehad singled out one letter and, as he finished reading it, he handedit to her. 

It was from Dan, a brief business-like resignation, expressingappreciation of Mr. Clarke's kindness, regret at the suddenness of hisdeparture, and giving as his reason private affairs that took himpermanently to another city. 

When Nance lifted her startled eyes from the signature, she saw that Mr. Clarke was closely scrutinizing the writing on the envelope. 

"It's incredible!" he said, "and yet the circumstances are mostsuspicious. He gives no real reason for leaving. "

"I can, " said Nance, resolutely. "He wanted me to marry him, and Iwouldn't promise. He asked me Saturday afternoon, after he come out ofhere. We had a quarrel, and he said he was going away; but I didn'tbelieve it. "

"Did he ask you to go away with him? Out of town anywhere?"

"Yes; he said he would go anywhere I said. "

A flash of anger burnt out the look of fear that had been lurking in Mr. Clarke's face. 

"He's the last man I would have suspected! Of course I knew he had beenin a reformatory at one time, but--"

The band that had been tightening around Nance's heart seemed suddenlyto burst. She sprang to her feet and stood confronting him withblazing eyes. 

"What right have you got to think Dan did it? There were two of them inthis room. Why don't you send for Mr. Mac and ask him questions?"

"Well, for one reason he's in New York, and for another, my son doesn'thave to resort to such means to get what money he wants. "

"Neither does Dan Lewis! He was a street kid; he was had up in courtthree times before he was fourteen; he was a month at the reformatory;and he's knocked elbows with more crooks than you ever heard of; but youknow as well as me that there ain't anybody living more honest than Dan!"

"All he's got to do is to prove it, " said Mr. Clarke, grimly. 

Nance looked at the relentless face of the man before her and thought ofthe money at his command to prove whatever he wanted to prove. 

"See here, Mr. Clarke!" she said desperately, "you said a while ago thatall the facts were against Dan. Will you tell me one thing?"

"What is it?"

"Did you give Mr. Mac the money to pay that note last Saturday?"

"What note?"

"The one the Meyers fellow was after him about?"

"Mac asked for no money, and I gave him none. In fact he told me thataside from his debts at the club and at the garage, he owed no bills. Soyou see your friend Meyers misinformed you. "

Here was Nance's chance to escape; she had spoken in Dan's defense; shehad told of the Meyers incident. To take one more step would be toconvict Mac and compromise herself. For one miserable moment conflictingdesires beat in her brain; then she heard herself saying quite calmly:

"No, sir, it wasn't Meyers that told me; it was Mr. Mac himself. "

Mr. Clarke wheeled on her sharply. 

"How did my son happen to be discussing his private affairs with you?"

"Mr. Mac and me are friends, " she said. "He's been awful nice to me; he'sgiven me more good times than I ever had in my whole life before. But Ididn't know the money wasn't his or I wouldn't have gone with him. "

"And I suppose you thought it was all right for a young man in Mac'sposition to be paying attention to a young woman in yours?"

Mr. Clarke studied her face intently, but her fearless eyes did notfalter under his scrutiny. 

"Are you trying to implicate Mac in this matter to spare Lewis, is thatit?"

"No, sir. I don't say it was Mr. Mac. I only say it wasn't Dan. There aresome people you just _know_ are straight, and Dan's one of them. "

Mr. Clarke got up and took a turn about the room, his hands locked behindhim. Her last shot had evidently taken effect. 

"Tell me exactly what Mac told you about this Meyers note, " he demanded. 

Nance recounted the facts in the case, ending with the promise Mac hadmade her to tell his father everything and begin anew. 

"I wish I had known this Saturday!" Mr. Clarke said, sinking heavilyinto his chair. "I came down on the boy pretty severely on another scoreand gave him little chance to say anything. Did he happen to mention theexact amount of his indebtedness to Meyers?"

"He said it was five hundred and sixty dollars. "

A sigh that was very like a groan escaped from Mr. Clarke; then he pulledhimself together with an effort. 

"You understand, Miss Molloy, " he said, "that it is quite a differentthing for my son to have done this, and for Lewis to have done it. Macknows that what is mine will be his eventually. If he signed that check, he was signing his own name as well as mine. Of course, he ought to havespoken to me about it. I am not excusing him. He has been indiscreet inthis as well as in other ways. I shall probably get a letter from him ina few days explaining the whole business. In the meanwhile the mattermust go no further. I insist upon absolute silence. You understand?"

She nodded. 

"And one thing more, " Mr. Clarke added. "I forbid any furthercommunication between you and Mac. He is not coming home at Christmas, and we are thinking of sending him abroad in June. I propose to keep himaway from here for the next two or three years. "

Nance fingered the blotter on the table absently. It was all very wellfor them to plan what they were going to do with Mac, but she knew in herheart that a line from her would set at naught all their calculations. Then her mind flew back to Dan. 

"If he comes back--Dan, I mean, --are you going to take him on again?"

Mr. Clarke saw his chance and seized it. 

"On one condition, " he said. "Will you give me your word of honor not tocommunicate with Mac in any way?"

They were both standing now, facing each other, and Nance saw nocompromise in the stern eyes of her employer. 

"I'll promise if I've got to, " she said. 

"Very well, " said Mr. Clarke. "That's settled. "

CHAPTER XXVII

FATE TAKES A HAND

Some sinister fascination seems to hover about a bridge at night, especially for unhappy souls who have grappled with fate and thinkthemselves worsted. Perhaps they find a melancholy pleasure in thecompany of ghosts who have escaped from similar defeats; perhaps theyseek to read the riddle of the universe, as they stand, elbows on rail, studying the turbulent waters below. 

On the third night after Dan's arrival in Cincinnati, the bridge claimedhim. He had deposited his few belongings in a cheap lodging-house on theKentucky side of the river, and then aimlessly paced the streets, toomiserable to eat or sleep, too desperate even to look for work. His onedesire was to get away from his tormenting thoughts, to try to forgetwhat had happened to him. 

A cold drizzle of rain had brought dusk on an hour before its time. Twilight was closing in on a sodden day. From the big Ohio city to thesmaller Kentucky towns, poured a stream of tired humanity. Belatedshoppers, business men, workers of all kinds hurried through the murkysoot-laden air, each hastening to some invisible goal. 

To Dan, watching with somber eyes from his niche above the wharf, itseemed that they were all going home to little lamp-lit cottages wherewomen and children awaited them. A light in the window and somebodywaiting! The old dream of his boyhood that only a few days ago had seemedabout to come true!

Instead, he had been caught up in a hurricane and swept out to sea. Hisanchors had been his love, his work, and his religion, and none of themheld. The factory, to which he had given the best of his brain and hisbody, for which he had dreamed and aspired and planned, was a nightmareto him. Mrs. Purdy and the church activities, which had loomed so largein his life, were but fleeting, unsubstantial shadows. 

Only one thing in the wide universe mattered now to him, and that wasNance. Over and over he rehearsed his final scene with her, searchingfor some word of denial or contrition or promise for the future. She hadnever lied to him, and he knew she never would. But she had stood beforehim in angry defiance, refusing to defend herself, declining his help, and letting him go out of her life without so much as lifting a fingerto stop him. 

His heavy eyes, which had been following the shore lights, came back tothe bridge, attracted by the movement of a woman leaning over one ofthe embrasures near him. He had been vaguely aware for the past fiveminutes of a disturbing sound that came to him from time to time; but itwas only now that he noticed the woman was crying. She was standing withher back to him, and he could see her lift her veil every now and thenand wipe her eyes. 

With a movement of impatience, he moved further on. He had enoughtroubles of his own to-night without witnessing those of others. He haddetermined to stop fleeing from his thoughts and to turn and face them. Arich young fellow, like Mac Clarke, didn't go with a girl like Nance fornothing. Why, this thing must have been going on for months, perhaps longbefore the night he had found Nance at the signal tower. They had beenmeeting in secret, going out alone together; she had let him make love toher, kiss her. 

The blood surged into his head, and doubts blacker than the waters belowassailed him, but even as he stood there with his head in his hands andhis cap pulled over his eyes, all sorts of shadowy memories came to pleadfor her. Memories of a little, tow-headed, independent girl coming andgoing in Calvary Alley, now lugging coal up two flights of stairs, nowrushing noisily down again with a Snawdor baby slung over her shoulder, now to snatch her part in the play. Nance, who laughed the loudest, criedthe hardest, ran the fastest, whose hand was as quick to help a friendas to strike a foe! He saw her sitting beside him on the mattress, sharing his disgrace on the day of the eviction, saw her standing beforethe bar of justice passionately pleading his cause. Then later andtenderer memories came to reinforce the earlier ones--memories of hergaily dismissing all other offers at the factory to trudge home nightafter night with him; of her sitting beside him in Post-Office Square, subdued and tender-eyed, watching the electric lights bloom through thedusk; of her nursing Uncle Jed, forgetting herself and her disappointmentin ministering to him and helping him face the future. 

A wave of remorse swept over him! What right had he to make her stay onand on in Cemetery Street when he knew how she hated it? Why had heforced her to go back to the factory? She had tried to make himunderstand, but he had been deaf to her need. He had expected her tobuckle down to work just as he did. He had forgotten that she was youngand pretty and wanted a good time like other girls. Of course it waswrong for her to go with Mac, but she was good, he _knew_ she was good. 

The words reverberated in his brain like a hollow echo, frightening awayall the pleading memories. Those were the very words he had used abouthis mother on that other black night when he had refused to believe thetruth. All the bitterness of his childhood's tragedy came now to poisonhis present mood. If Nance was innocent, why had she kept all this fromhim, why had she refused in the end to let him defend her good name?

He thought of his own struggle to be good; of his ceaseless efforts to bedecent in every thought as well as deed for Nance's sake. Decent! His lipcurled at the irony of it! That wasn't what girls wanted? Decency madefellows stupid and dull; it kept them too closely at work; it made themtake life too seriously. Girls wanted men like Mac Clarke--men whosnapped their fingers at religion and refused responsibilities, andlaughed in the face of duty. Laughter! That was what Nance loved aboveeverything! All right, let her have it! What did it matter? He wouldlaugh too. 

With a reckless resolve, he turned up his coat collar, rammed his handsin his pockets, and started toward the Kentucky shore. The drizzle bythis time had turned into a sharp rain, and he realized that he was coldand wet. He remembered a swinging door two squares away. 

As he left the bridge, he saw the woman in the blue veil hurry past him, and with a furtive look about her, turn and go down the steep leveetoward the water. There was something so nervous and erratic in hermovements, that he stopped to watch her. 

For a few moments she wandered aimlessly along the bank, apparentlyindifferent to the pelting rain; then she succeeded, after somedifficulty, in climbing out on one of the coal barges that fringed theriver bank. 

[Illustration: "Don't call a policeman!" she implored wildly]

Dan glanced down the long length of the bridge, empty now save for a fewpedestrians and a lumbering truck in the distance. In mid-stream thepaddle of a river steamer was churning the water into foam, andup-stream, near the dock, negro roustabouts could be heard singing. Butunder the bridge all was silent, and the levee was deserted in bothdirections. He strained his eyes to distinguish that vague figure on thebarge from the surrounding shadows. He saw her crawling across theshifting coal; then he waited to see no more. 

Plunging down the bank at full speed, he scrambled out on the barge andseized her by the arms. The struggle was brief, but fierce. With a cryof despair, she sank face downward on the coal and burst intohysterical weeping. 

"Don't call a policeman!" she implored wildly. "Don't let 'em take me toa hospital!"

"I won't. Don't try to talk 'til you get hold of yourself, " said Dan. 

"But I'm chokin'! I can't breathe! Get the veil off!"

As Dan knelt above her, fumbling with the long veil, he noticed for thefirst time that she was young, and that her bare neck between the collarand the ripple of her black hair was very white and smooth. He bent downand looked at her with a flash of recognition. 

"Birdie!" he cried incredulously, "Birdie Smelts!"

Her heavy white lids fluttered wildly, and she started up in terror. 

"Don't be scared!" he urged. "It's Dan Lewis from back home. How did youever come to be in this state?"

With a moan of despair she covered her face with her hands. 

"I was up there on the bridge, " Dan went on, almost apologetically. "Isaw you there, but I didn't know it was you. Then when you started downto the water, I sorter thought--"

"You oughtn't 'a' stopped me, " she wailed. "I been walkin' thestreets tryin' to get up my courage all day. I'm sick, I tell you. Iwant to die. "

"But it ain't right to die this way. Don't you know it's wicked?"

"Good and bad's all the same to me. I'm done for. There ain't a soul inthis rotten old town that cares whether I live or die!"

Dan flushed painfully. He was much more equal to saving a body than asoul, but he did not flinch from his duty. 

"God cares, " he said. "Like as not He sent me out on the bridge a-purposeto-night to help you. You let me put you on the train, Birdie, and shipyou home to your mother. "

"Never! I ain't goin' home, and I ain't goin' to a hospital. Promise meyou won't let 'em take me, Dan!"

"All right, all right, " he said, with an anxious eye on her shiveringform and her blue lips. "Only we got to get under cover somewhere. Do youfeel up to walking yet?"

"Where'd I walk to?" she demanded bitterly. "I tell you I've got no moneyand no place to go. I been on the street since yesterday noon. "

"You can't stay out here all night!" said Dan at his wit's end. "I'llhave to get you a room somewhere. "

"Go ahead and get it. I'll wait here. "

But Dan mistrusted the look of cunning that leaped into her eyes and theway she glanced from time to time at the oily, black water that curledaround the corner of the barge. 

"I got a room a couple of squares over, " he said slowly. "You might comeover there 'til you get dried out and rested up a bit. "

"I don't want to go anywhere. I'm too sick. I don't want to have tosee people. "

"You won't have to. It's a rooming house. The old woman that looks afterthings has gone by now. "

It took considerable persuasion to get her on her feet and up the bank. Again and again she refused to go on, declaring that she didn't want tolive. But Dan's patience was limitless. Added to his compassion for her, was the half-superstitious belief that he had been appointed byProvidence to save her. 

"It's just around the corner now, " he encouraged her. "Can you make it?"

She stumbled on blindly, without answering, clinging to his arm and. Breathing heavily. 

"Here we are!" said Dan, turning into a dark entrance, "front room on theleft. Steady there!"

But even as he opened the door, Birdie swayed forward and would havefallen to the floor, had he not caught her and laid her on the bed. 

Hastily lighting the lamp on the deal table by the window, he went backto the bed and loosened the neck of her dripping coat and then lookeddown at her helplessly. Her face, startlingly white in its frame of blackhair, showed dark circles under the eyes, and her full lips had lost notonly their color, but the innocent curves of childhood as well. 

Presently she opened her eyes wearily and looked about her. 

"I'm cold, " she said with a shiver, "and hungry. God! I didn't knowanybody could be so hungry!"

"I'll make a fire in the stove, " cried Dan; "then I'll go out and getyou something hot to drink. You'll feel better soon. "

"Don't be long, Dan, " she whispered faintly. "I'm scared to stayby myself. "

Ten minutes later Dan hurried out of the eating-house at the corner, balancing a bowl of steaming soup in one hand and a plate of food in theother. He was soaked to the skin, and the rain trickled from his hairinto his eyes. As he crossed the street a gust of wind caught his cap andhurled it away into the wet night. But he gave no thought to himself orto the weather, for the miracle had happened. That dancing gleam in thegutter came from a lighted lamp in a window behind which some one waswaiting for him. 

He found Birdie shaking with a violent chill, and it was only after hehad got off her wet coat and wrapped her in a blanket, and persuaded herto drink the soup that she began to revive. 

"What time of night is it?" she asked weakly. 

"After eleven. You're going to stay where you are, and I'm going out andfind me a room somewhere. I'll come back in the morning. "

All of Birdie's alarms returned. 

"I ain't going to stay here by myself, Dan. I'll go crazy, I tell you! Idon't want to live and I am afraid to die. What sort of a God is He tolet a person suffer like this?"

And poor old Dan, at death-grips with his own life problem, wrestled invain with hers; arguing, reassuring, affirming, trying with an almostfanatic zeal to conquer his own doubts in conquering hers. 

Then Birdie, bent on keeping him with her, talked of herself, pouringout an incoherent story of misfortune: how she had fainted on the stageone night and incurred the ill-will of the director; how the companywent on and left her without friends and without money; how matters hadgone from bad to worse until she couldn't stand it any longer. Shepainted a picture of wronged innocence that would have wrung a sternerheart than Dan's. 

"I know, " he said sympathetically. "I've seen what girls are up againstat Clarke's. "

Birdie's feverish eyes fastened upon him. 

"Have you just come from Clarke's?"

"Yes. "

"Is Mac there?"

Dan's face hardened. 

"I don't know anything about him. "

"No; and you don't want to! If there's one person in this world I hate, it's Mac Clarke. "

"Same here, " said Dan, drawn to her by the attraction of a commonantipathy. 

"Thinks he can do what he pleases, " went on Birdie, bitterly, "with hisgood looks and easy ways. He'll have a lot to answer for!"

Dan sat with his fists locked, staring at the floor. A dozen questionsburned on his lips, but he could not bring himself to ask them. 

A fierce gust of wind rattled the window, and Birdie cried out in terror. 

"You stop being afraid and go to sleep, " urged Dan, but she shook herhead. 

"I don't dare to! You'd go away, and I'd wake up and go crazy with fear. I always was like that even when I was a kid, back home. I used to prettynear die of nights when pa would come in drunk and get to breaking upthings. There was a man like that down where I been staying. He'd fallagainst my door 'most every night. Sometimes I'd meet him out in thestreet, and he'd follow me for squares. "

Dan drew the blanket about her shoulders. 

"Go to sleep, " he said. "I won't leave you. "

"Yes; but to-morrow night, and next night! Oh, God! I'm smothering. Lift me up!"

He sat on the side of the bed and lifted her until she rested against hisshoulder. A deathly pallor had spread over her features, and she clung tohim weakly. 

Through the long hours of the stormy night he sat there, soothing andcomforting her, as he would have soothed a terror-stricken child. Byand by her clinging hands grew passive in his, her rigid, jerking limbsrelaxed, and she fell into a feverish sleep broken by fitful sobs andsmothered outcries. As Dan sat there, with her helpless weight againsthim, and gently stroked the wet black hair from her brow, somethingfierce and protective stirred in him, the quick instinct of thechivalrous strong to defend the weak. Here was somebody more wretched, more desolate, more utterly lonely than himself--a soft, fearful, feminine somebody, ill-fitted to fight the world with those frail, white hands. 

Hitherto he had blindly worshiped at one shrine, and now the image wasshattered, the shrine was empty--so appallingly empty that he was readyto fill it at any cost. For the first time in three days he ceased tothink of Nance Molloy or of Mac Clarke, whose burden he was allunconsciously bearing. He ceased, also, to think of the soul he hadbeen trying so earnestly to save. He thought instead of the tenderweight against his shoulder, of the heavy lashes that lay on thetear-stained cheeks so close to his, of the soft, white brow under hisrough, brown fingers. Something older than love or religion was makingits claim on Dan. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE PRICE OF ENLIGHTENMENT

It was November of the following year that the bird of ill-omen, which had been flapping its wings over Calvary Alley for so long, decided definitely to alight. A catastrophe occurred that threatenedto remove the entire population of the alley to another and, wetrust, a fairer world. 

Mrs. Snawdor insists to this day that it was the sanitary inspector whostarted the trouble. On one of his infrequent rounds he had encountered astrange odor in Number One, a suspicious, musty odor that refused to comeunder the classification of krout, kerosene, or herring. The tenants, ina united body, indignantly defended the smell. 

"It ain't nothin' at all but Mis' Smelts' garbage, " Mrs. Snawdordeclared vehemently. "She often chucks it in a hole in the kitchen floorto save steps. Anybody'd think the way you was carryin' on, it was amurdered corpse!"

But the inspector persisted in his investigations, forcing a way into thebelligerent Snawdor camp, where he found Fidy Yager with a well-developedcase of smallpox. She had been down with what was thought to bechicken-pox for a week, but the other children had been sworn to secrecyunder the threat that the doctor would scrape the skin off their armswith a knife if they as much as mentioned Fidy's name. 

It was a culmination of a battle that had raged between Mrs. Snawdorand the health authorities for ten years, over the question ofvaccination. The epidemic that followed was the visible proof of Mrs. Snawdor's victory. 

Calvary Alley, having offered a standing invitation to germs in general, was loathe to regard the present one as an enemy. It resisted theinspector, who insisted on vaccinating everybody all over again; it wasindignant at the headlines in the morning papers; it was outraged whenNumber One was put in quarantine. 

Even when Fidy Yager, who "wasn't all there, " and who, according to hermother, had "a fit a minute, " was carried away to the pest-house, nobodywas particularly alarmed. But when, twenty-four hours later, Mr. Snawdorand one of the Lavinski helpers came down with it, the alley began tolook serious, and Mrs. Snawdor sent for Nance. 

For six months now Nance had been living at a young women's boardinghome, realizing a life-long ambition to get out of the alley. But onhearing the news, she flung a few clothes into an old suitcase and rushedto the rescue. 

Since that never-to-be-forgotten day a year ago when word had reachedher of Dan's marriage to Birdie Smelts, a hopeless apathy had possessedher. Even in the first weeks after his departure, when Mac's impassionedletters were pouring in and she was exerting all her will power to makegood her promise to his father, she was aware of a dull, benumbinganxiety over Dan. She had tried to get his address from Mrs. Purdy, fromSlap Jack's, where he still kept some of his things, from the men he knewbest at the factory. Nobody could tell her where he had gone, or what heintended to do. 

Just what she wanted to say to him she did not know. She still resentedbitterly his mistrust of her, and what she regarded as his interferencewith her liberty, but she had no intention of letting matters rest asthey were. She and Dan must fight the matter out to some satisfactoryconclusion. 

Then came the news of his marriage, shattering every hope and shaking thevery foundation of her being. From her earliest remembrance Dan had beenthe most dependable factor in her existence. Whirlwind enthusiasms forother things and other people had caught her up from time to time, butshe always came back to Dan, as one comes back to solid earth after aflight in an aeroplane. 

In her first weeks of chagrin and mortification she had sought refuge inthoughts of Mac. She had slept with his unanswered letters under herpillow and clung to the memory of his ardent eyes, his gay laughter, thetouch of his lips on her hands and cheeks. Had Mac come home thatChristmas, her doom would have been sealed. The light by which shesteered had suddenly gone out, and she could no longer distinguish thewarning coast lights from the harbor lights of home. 

But Mac had not come at Christmas, neither had he come in the summer, andNance's emotional storm was succeeded by an equally intolerable calm. Back and forth from factory to boarding home she trudged day by day, andon Sunday she divided her wages with Mrs. Snawdor, on the condition thatshe should have a vote in the management of family affairs. By this planLobelia and the twins were kept at school, and Mr. Snawdor's feebleefforts at decent living were staunchly upheld. 

When the epidemic broke out in Calvary Alley, and Mrs. Snawdor signaledfor help, Nance responded to the cry with positive enthusiasm. Here wassomething stimulating at last. There was immediate work to be done, andshe was the one to do it. 

As she hurried up the steps of Number One, she found young Dr. IsaacLavinski superintending the construction of a temporary door. 

"You can't come in here!" he called to her, peremptorily. "We're inquarantine. I've got everybody out I can. But enough people have beenexposed to it already to spread the disease all over the city. Three morecases to-night. Mrs. Smelts' symptoms are very suspicious. Dr. Adair iscoming himself at nine o'clock to give instructions. It's going to be atussle all right!"

Nance looked at him in amazement. He spoke with more enthusiasm than hehad ever shown in the whole course of his life. His narrow, sallow facewas full of keen excitement. Little old Ike, who had hidden under the bedin the old days whenever a fight was going on, was facing death with theeagerness of a valiant soldier on the eve of his first battle. 

"I'm going to help you, Ike!" Nance cried instantly. "I've come to stay'til it's over. "

But Isaac barred the way. 

"You can't come in, I tell you! I've cleared the decks for action. Notanother person but the doctor and nurse are going to pass over thisthreshold!"

"Look here, Ike Lavinski, " cried Nance, indignantly, "you know as well asme that there are things that ought to be done up there at theSnawdors'!"

"They'll have to go undone, " said Isaac, firmly. 

Nance wasted no more time in futile argument. She waited for an opportunemoment when Ike's back was turned; then she slipped around the corner ofthe house and threaded her way down the dark passage, until she reachedthe fire-escape. There were no lights in the windows as she climbed pastthem, and the place seemed ominously still. 

At the third platform she scrambled over a wash-tub and a dozen plastercasts of Pocahontas, --Mr. Snawdor's latest venture in industry, --andcrawled through the window into the kitchen. It was evident at a glancethat Mrs. Snawdor had at last found that long-talked-of day off and hadutilized it in cleaning up. The room didn't look natural in its changedcondition. Neither did Mrs. Snawdor, sitting in the gloom in anattitude of deep dejection. At sight of Nance at the window, she gave acry of relief. 

"Thank the Lord, you've come!" she said. "Can you beat this? Havin' toclimb up the outside of yer own house like a fly! They've done sent Fidyto the pest-house, an' scattered the other childern all over theneighborhood, an' they got me fastened up here, like a hen in a coop!"

"How is he?" whispered Nance, glancing toward the inner room. 

"Ain't a thing the matter with him, but the lumbago. Keeps on complainin'of a pain in his back. I never heard of such a hullabaloo about nothin'in all my life. They'll be havin' me down with smallpox next. How longyou goin' to be here?"

Nance, taking off her hat and coat, announced that she had come to stay. 

Mrs. Snawdor heaved a sigh of relief. 

"Well, if you'll sorter keep a eye on him, I believe I'll step downan' set with Mis' Smelts fer a spell. I ain't been off the place fertwo days. "

"But wait a minute! Where's Uncle Jed? And Mr. Demry?"

"They 're done bounced too! Anybody tell you 'bout yer Uncle Jed'spatent? They say he stands to make as much as a hundern dollars offen it. They say--"

"I don't care what they say!" cried Nance, distractedly. "Tell me, didthe children take clean clothes with 'em? Did you see if Uncle Jed hadhis sweater? Have you washed the bedclothes that was on Fidy's bed?"

Mrs. Snawdor shook her head impatiently. 

"I didn't, an' I ain't goin' to! That there Ike Lavinski ain't goin' torun me! He took my Fidy off to that there pest-house where I bet theyoperate her. He'll pay up fer this, you see if he don't!"

She began to cry, but as Nance was too much occupied to give audience toher grief, she betook herself to the first floor to assist in the care ofMrs. Smelts. Illness in the abode of another has a romantic flavor thathome-grown maladies lack. 

When Dr. Adair and Isaac Lavinski made their rounds at nine o'clock, theyfound Nance bending over a steaming tub, washing out a heavy comfort. 

"What are you doing here?" demanded Isaac in stern surprise. 

"Manicuring my finger-nails, " she said, with an impudent grin, as shestraightened her tired shoulders. Then seeing Dr. Adair, she blushed andwiped her hands on her apron. 

"You don't remember me, Doctor, do you? I helped you with Uncle Jed Burksat the signal tower that time when the lightning struck him. "

He looked her over, his glance traveling from her frank, friendly face toher strong bare arms. 

"Why, yes, I do. You and your brother had been to some fancy-dressaffair. I remember your red shoes. It isn't every girl of your age thatcould have done what you did that night. Have you been vaccinated?"

"Twice. Both took. "

"She's got no business being here, sir, " Isaac broke in hotly. "I toldher to keep out. "

"Doctor! Listen at me!" pleaded Nance, her hand on his coat sleeve. Honest to goodness, I _got_ to stay. Mrs. Snawdor don't believe it'ssmallpox. She'll slip the children in when you ain't looking and go outherself and see the neighbors. Don't you see that somebody's got to behere that understands?"

"The girl's right, Lavinski, " said Dr. Adair. "She knows the ropes here, and can be of great service to us. The nurse downstairs can't begin todo it all. Now let us have a look at the patient. "

Little Mr. Snawdor was hardly worth looking at. He lay rigid, like adried twig, with his eyes shut tight, and his mouth shut tight, and hishands clenched tighter still. It really seemed as if this time Mr. Snawdor was going to make good his old-time threat to quit. 

Dr. Adair gave the necessary instructions; then he turned to go. He hadbeen watching Nance, as she moved about the room carrying out his orders, and at the door he laid a hand on her shoulder. 

"How old are you, my girl?" he asked. 

"Twenty. "

"We need girls like you up at the hospital. Have you ever thought oftaking the training?"

"Me? I haven't got enough spondulicks to take a street-car ride. "

"That part can be arranged if you really want to go into the work. Think it over. "

Then he and the impatient Isaac continued on their rounds, and Nance wentback to her work. But the casual remark, let fall by Dr. Adair, had sether ambition soaring. Her imagination flared to the project. Snawdor'sflat extended itself into a long ward; poor little Mr. Snawdor, who washardly half a man, became a dozen; and Miss Molloy, in a becominguniform, moved in and out among the cots, a ministering angel of mercy. 

For the first time since Dan Lewis's marriage, her old courage and zestfor life returned, and when Mrs. Snawdor came in at midnight, she foundher sitting beside her patient with shining eyes full of waking dreams. 

"Mis' Smelts is awful bad, " Mrs. Snawdor reported, looking more seriousthan she had heretofore. "Says she wants to see you before the nursewakes up. Seems like she's got somethin' on her mind. "

Nance hurried into her coat and went out into the dark, damp hall. Longblack roaches scurried out of her way as she descended the stairs. In thehall below the single gas-jet flared in the draught, causing ghostlyshadows to leap out of corners and then skulk fearfully back again. Nancewas not afraid, but a sudden sick loathing filled her. Was she nevergoing to be able to get away from it all? Was that long arm of duty goingto stretch out and find her wherever she went, and drag her back to thisnoisome spot? Were all her dreams and ambitions to die, as they had beenborn, in Calvary Alley?

Mrs. Smelts had been moved into an empty room across the hall from herown crowded quarters, and as Nance pushed open the door, she lifted awarning hand and beckoned. 

"Shut it, " she said in a hoarse whisper. "I don't want nobody to hearwhat I got to tell you. "

"Can't it wait, Mrs. Smelts?" asked Nance, with a pitying hand on thefeverish brow across which a long white scar extended. 

"No. They're goin' to take me away in the mornin'. I heard 'em sayso. It's about Birdie, Nance, I want to tell you. They've had tolock her up. "

"It's the fever makes you think that, Mrs. Smelts. You let me sponge youoff a bit. "

"No, no, not yet. She's crazy, I tell you! She went out of her head lastJanuary when the baby come. Dan's kept it to hisself all this time, butnow he's had to send her to the asylum. "

"Who told you?"

"Dan did. He wrote me when he sent me the last money. I got hisletter here under my pillow. I want you to burn it, Nance, so no onewon't know. "

Nance went on mechanically stroking the pain-racked head, as she reachedunder the pillow for Dan's letter. The sight of the neat, painstakingwriting made her heart contract. 

"You tell him fer me, " begged Mrs. Smelts, weakly, "to be good to her. She never had the right start. Her paw handled me rough before she come, an' she was always skeery an' nervous like. But she was so purty, oh, sopurty, an' me so proud of her!"

Nance wiped away the tears that trickled down the wrinkled cheeks, andtried to quiet her, but the rising fever made her talk on and on. 

"I ain't laid eyes on her since a year ago this fall. She come home sick, an' nobody knew it but me. I got out of her whut was her trouble, an' Iwent to see his mother, but it never done no good. Then I went to thebottle factory an' tried to get his father to listen--"

"Whose father?" asked Nance, sharply. 

"The Clarke boy's. It was him that did fer her. I tell you she was a goodgirl 'til then. But they wouldn't believe it. They give me some money tosign the paper an' not to tell; but before God it's him that's the fatherof her child, and poor Dan--"

But Mrs. Smelts never finished her sentence; a violent paroxysm of painseized her, and at dawn the messenger that called for the patient on thethird floor, following the usual economy practised in Calvary Alley, madeone trip serve two purposes and took her also. 

By the end of the month the epidemic was routed, and the alley, cleansedand chastened as it had never been before, was restored to its own. Mr. Snawdor, Fidy Yager, Mrs. Smelts, and a dozen others, being the unfittestto survive, had paid the price of enlightenment. 

CHAPTER XXIX

IN TRAINING

One sultry July night four years later Dr. Isaac Lavinski, now anarrogant member of the staff at the Adair Hospital, paused on his lastround of the wards and cocked an inquiring ear above the steps that ledto the basement. Something that sounded very much like suppressedlaughter came up to him, and in order to confirm his suspicions, hetiptoed down to the landing and, making an undignified syphon of himself, peered down into the rear passage. In a circle on the floor, four nursesin their nightgowns softly beat time, while a fifth, arrayed in pinkpajamas, with her hair flying, gave a song and dance with an abandon thatignored the fact that the big thermometer in the entry registeredninety-nine. 

The giggles that had so disturbed Dr. Lavinski's peace of mind increasedin volume, as the dancer executed a particularly daring _passeul_ and, turning a double somersault, landed deftly on her bare toes. 

"Go on, do it again!" "Show us how Sheeny Ike dances the tango. " "SingBarney McKane, " came in an enthusiastic chorus. 

But before the encore could be responded to, a familiar sound in thecourt without, sent the girls scampering to their respective rooms. 

Dr. Isaac, reluctantly relinquishing his chance for administering promptand dramatic chastisement, came down the stairs and out to the entry. 

An ambulance had just arrived, and behind it was a big private car, andbehind that Dr. Adair's own neat runabout. 

Dr. Adair met Dr. Isaac at the door. 

"It's an emergency case, " he explained hastily. "I may have to operateto-night. Prepare number sixteen, and see if Miss Molloy is off duty. "

"She is, sir, " said Isaac, grimly, "and the sooner she's put on a casethe better. "

"Tell her to report at once. And send an orderly down to lend a hand withthe stretcher. "

Five minutes later an immaculate nurse, every button fastened, every foldin place, presented herself on the third floor for duty. You would havehad to look twice to make certain that that slim, trim figure in itswhite uniform was actually Nance Molloy. To be sure her eyes sparkledwith the old fire under her becoming cap, and her chin was still carriedat an angle that hinted the possession of a secret gold mine, but she hadchanged amazingly for all that. Life had evidently been busy chiselingaway her rough edges, and from a certain poise of body and aprofessional control of voice and gesture, it was apparent that Nance haddone a little chiseling on her own account. 

As she stood in the dim corridor awaiting orders, she could not helpoverhearing a conversation between Dr. Adair and the agitated lady whostood with her hand on the door-knob of number sixteen. 

"My dear madam, " the doctor was saying in a tone that betokened the limitof patience, "you really must leave the matter to my judgment, if weoperate--"

"But you won't unless it's the last resort?" pleaded the lady. "You knowhow frightfully sensitive to pain he is. But if you find out that youmust, then I want you to promise me not to let him suffer afterward. Youmust keep him under the influence of opiates, and you will wait until hisfather can get here, won't you?"

"But that's the trouble. You've waited too long already. Appendicitis isnot a thing to take liberties with. "

"You don't mean it's too late? You don't think--"

"We don't think anything at present. We hope everything. " Then spyingNance, he turned toward her with relief. "This is the nurse who will takecharge of the case. "

The perturbed lady uncovered one eye. 

"You are sure she is one of your very best?"

"One of our best, " said the doctor, as he and Nance exchanged aquizzical smile. 

"Let her go in to him now. I can't bear for him to be alone a second. AsI was telling you--"

Nance passed into the darkened room and closed the door softly. Thepatient was evidently asleep; so she tiptoed over to the window andslipped into a chair. On each side of the open space without stretchedthe vine-clad wings of the hospital, gray now under the starlight. Nance's eyes traveled reminiscently from floor to floor, from window towindow. How many memories the old building held for her! Memories ofheartaches and happiness, of bad times and good times, of bitter defeatsand dearly won triumphs. 

It had been no easy task for a girl of her limited education andundisciplined nature to take the training course. But she had gallantlystood to her guns and out of seeming defeat, won a victory. For the firsttime in her diversified career she had worked in a congenial environmenttoward a fixed goal, and in a few weeks now she would be launching herown little boat on the professional main. 

Her eyes grew tender as she thought of leaving these protecting graywalls that had sheltered her for four long years; yet the adventure ofthe future was already calling. Where would her first case lead her?

A cough from the bed brought her sharply back to the present. She wentforward and stooped to adjust a pillow, and the patient opened his eyes, stared at her in bewilderment, then pulled himself up on his elbow. 

"Nance!" he cried incredulously. "Nance Molloy!"

She started back in dismay. 

"Why, it's Mr. Mac! I didn't know! I thought I'd seen the ladybefore--no, please! Stop, they're coming! Please, Mr. Mac!"

For the patient, heretofore too absorbed in his own affliction to noteanything, was covering her imprisoned hands with kisses and calling onHeaven to witness that he was willing to undergo any number of operationsif she would nurse him through them. 

Nance escaped from the room as Mrs. Clarke entered. With burning cheeksshe rushed to Dr. Adair's office. 

"You'll have to get somebody else on that case, Doctor, " she declaredimpulsively. "I used to work for Mr. Clarke up at the bottle factory, and--and there are reasons why I don't want to take it. "

Dr. Adair looked at her over his glasses and frowned. 

"It is a nurse's duty, " he said sternly, "to take the cases as they come, irrespective of likes or dislikes. Mr. Clarke is an old friend of mine, a man I admire and respect. "

"Yes, sir, I know, but if you'll just excuse me this once--"

"Is Miss Rand off duty?"

"No, sir. She's in number seven. "

"Miss Foster?"

"No, sir. "

"Then I shall have to insist upon your taking the case. I must havesomebody I can depend upon to look after young Clarke for the nexttwenty-four hours. It's not only the complication with his appendix; it'shis lungs. "

"You mean he's tubercular?"

"Yes. "

Nance's eyes widened. 

"Does he know it?"

"No. I shall wait and tell his father. I wouldn't undertake to break thenews to that mother of his for a house and lot! You take the caseto-night, and I'll operate in the morning--"

"No, no, please, Doctor! Mr. Clarke wouldn't want me. "

"Mr. Clarke will be satisfied with whatever arrangement I see fit tomake. Besides another nurse will be in charge by the time he arrives. "

"But, Doctor--"

A stern glance silenced her, and she went out, closing the door as hardas she dared behind her. During her four years at the hospital thememory of Mac Clarke had grown fainter and fainter like the perfume of afading flower. But the memory of Dan was like a thorn in her flesh, buried deep, but never forgotten. 

To herself, her fellow-nurses, the young internes who invariably fell inlove with her, she declared gaily that she was "through with menforever. " The subject that excited her fiercest scorn was matrimony, andshe ridiculed sentiment with the superior attitude of one who has weighedit in the balance and found it wanting. 

Nevertheless something vaguely disturbing woke in her that night when shewatched with Mrs. Clarke at Mac's bedside. Despite the havoc five yearshad wrought in him, there was the old appealing charm in his voice andmanner, the old audacity in his whispered words when she bent over him, the old eager want in his eyes as they followed her about the room. 

Toward morning he dropped into a restless sleep, and Mrs. Clarke, whohad been watching his every breath, tiptoed over to the table and satdown by Nance. 

"My son tells me you are the Miss Molloy who used to be in the office, "she whispered. "He is so happy to find some one here he knows. He loathestrained nurses as a rule. They make him nervous. But he has beenwonderfully good about letting you do things for him. It's a tremendousrelief to me. "

Nance made a mistake on the chart that was going to call for anexplanation later. 

"He's been losing ground ever since last winter, " the doting mother wenton. "He was really quite well at Divonne-les-Bains, but he lost all hegained when we reached Paris. You see he doesn't know how to take care ofhimself; that's the trouble. "

Mac groaned and she hurried to him. 

"He wants a cigarette, Miss Molloy. I don't believe it would hurthim, " she said. 

"His throat's already irritated, " said Nance, in her most professionaltone. "I am sure Dr. Adair wouldn't want him to smoke. "

"But we can't refuse him anything to-night, " said Mrs. Clarke, with anapologetic smile as she reached for the matches. 

Nance looking at her straight, delicate profile thrown into sudden reliefby the flare of the match, had the same disturbing sense of familiaritythat she had experienced long ago in the cathedral. 

But during the next twenty-four hours there was no time to analyzesubtle impressions or to indulge in sentimental reminiscence. From themoment Mac's unconscious form was borne down from the operating room andhanded over to her care, he ceased to be a man and became a criticallyill patient. 

"We haven't much to work on, " said Dr. Adair, shaking his head. "He hasno resisting power. He has burned himself out. "

But Mac's powers of resistance were stronger than he thought, and by thetime Mr. Clarke arrived the crisis was passed. Slowly and painfully hestruggled back to consciousness, and his first demand was for Nance. 

"It's the nurse he had when he first came, " Mrs. Clarke explained to herhusband. "You must make Dr. Adair give her back to us. She's the onlynurse I've ever seen who could get Mac to do things. By the way, she usedto be in your office, a rather pretty, graceful girl, named Molloy. "

"I remember her, " said Mr. Clarke, grimly. "You better leave things asthey are. Miss Hanna seems to know her business. "

"But Mac hates Miss Hanna! He says her hands make him think ofbedsprings. Miss Molloy makes him laugh and helps him to forget the pain. He's taken a tremendous fancy to her. "

"Yes, he had quite a fancy for her once before. "

"Now, Macpherson, how can you?" cried Mrs. Clarke on the verge of tears. "Just because the boy made one slip when he was little more than a_child_, you suspect his every motive. I don't see how you can be socruel! If you had seen his agony, if you had been through what I have--"

Thus it happened that instead of keeping Nance out of Mac's sight, Mrs. Clarke left no stone unturned to get her back, and Mr. Clarke was evenpersuaded to take it up personally with Dr. Adair. 

Nance might have held out to the end, had her sympathies not beenprofoundly stirred by the crushing effect the news of Mac's serioustubercular condition had upon his parents. On the day they were told Mr. Clarke paced the corridor for hours with slow steps and bent head, refusing to see people or to answer the numerous inquiries over thetelephone. As for Mrs. Clarke, all the fragile prettiness and girlishgrace she had carried over into maturity, seemed to fall away from herwithin the hour, leaving her figure stooped and her face settled intolines of permanent anxiety. 

The mother's chief concern now was to break the news of his condition toMac, who was already impatiently straining at the leash, eager to getback to his old joyous pursuits and increasingly intolerant ofrestrictions. 

"He refuses to listen to me or to his father, " she confided to Nance, whohad coaxed her down to the yard for a breath of fresh air. "I'm afraidwe've lost our influence over him. And yet I can't bear for Dr. Adair totell him. He's so stern and says such dreadful things. Do you know heactually was heartless enough to tell Mac that he had brought a greatdeal of this trouble on himself!"

Nance slipped her hand through Mrs. Clarke's arm, and patted itreassuringly. She had come to have a sort of pitying regard for thisterror-stricken mother during these days of anxious waiting. 

"I wonder if you would be willing to tell him?" Mrs. Clarke asked, looking at her appealingly. "Maybe you could make him understand withoutfrightening him. "

"I'll try, " said Nance, with ready sympathy. 

The opportunity came one day in the following week when the regular daynurse was off duty. She found Mac alone, propped up in bed, andtremendously glad to see her. To a less experienced person thebrilliancy of his eyes and the color in his cheeks would have meantreturning health, but to Nance they were danger signals that nerved herto her task. 

"I hear you are going home next week, " she said, resting her crossed armson the foot of his bed. "Going to be good and take care of yourself?"

"Not on your life!" cried Mac, gaily, searching under his pillow for hiscigarette case. "The lid's been on for a month, and it's coming off witha bang. I intend to shoot the first person that mentions health to me. "

"Fire away then, " said Nance. "I'm it. I've come to hand you out a nicelittle bunch of advice. "

"You needn't. I've got twice as much now as I intend to use. Come onaround here and be sociable. I want to make love to you. "

Nance declined the invitation. 

"Has Dr. Adair put you wise on what he's letting you in for?"

"Rather! Raw eggs, rest, and rust. Mother put him up to it. It's perfectrot. I'll be feeling fit as a fiddle inside of two weeks. All I need isto get out of this hole. They couldn't have kept me here this long if ithadn't been for you. "

"And I reckon you're counting on going back and speeding up just as youdid before?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Because you can't. The sooner you soak that in, the better. "

He blew a succession of smoke rings in her direction and laughed. 

"So they've taken you into the conspiracy, have they? Going tofrighten me into the straight and narrow, eh? Suppose I tell them thatI'm lovesick? That there's only one cure for me in the world, andthat's you?"

The ready retort with which she had learned to parry these personalitieswas not forthcoming. She felt as she had that day five years ago in hisfather's office, when she told him what she thought of him. He smiled upat her with the same irresponsible light in his brown eyes, the sameeager desire to sidestep the disagreeable, the old refusal to accept lifeseriously. He was such a boy despite his twenty-six years. Such aspoiled, selfish lovable boy!

With a sudden rush of pity, she went to him and took his hand:

"See here, Mr. Mac, " she said very gravely, "I got to tell yousomething. Dr. Adair wanted to tell you from the first, but your motherheaded him off. "

He shot a swift glance at her. 

"What do you mean, Nance?"

Then Nance sat on the side of his bed and explained to him, as gently andas firmly as she could, the very serious nature of his illness, emphasizing the fact that his one chance for recovery lay in completesurrender to a long and rigorous regime of treatment. 

From scoffing incredulity, he passed to anxious skepticism and then toagonized conviction. It was the first time he had ever faced anydisagreeable fact in life from which there was no appeal, and he criedout in passionate protest. If he was a "lunger" he wanted to die as soonas possible. He hated those wheezy chaps that went coughing through life, avoiding draughts, and trying to keep their feet dry. If he was going todie, he wanted to do it with a rush. He'd be hanged if he'd cut outsmoking, drinking, and running with the boys, just to lie on his back fora year and perhaps die at the end of it!

Nance faced the bitter crisis with him, whipping up his courage, strengthening his weak will, nerving him for combat. When she left himan hour later, with his face buried in the pillow and his hands lockedabove his head, he had promised to submit to the doctor's advice on theone condition that she would go home with him and start him on that fightfor life that was to tax all his strength and patience and self-control. 

CHAPTER XXX

HER FIRST CASE

October hovered over Kentucky that year in a golden halo of enchantment. The beech-trees ran the gamut of glory, and every shrub and weed had itshour of transient splendor. A soft haze from burning brush lent the worlda sense of mystery and immensity. Day after day on the south porch atHillcrest Mac Clarke lay propped with cushions on a wicker couch, whileNance Molloy sat beside him, and all about them was a stir of whispering, dancing, falling leaves. The hillside was carpeted with them, the brookbelow the pergola was strewn with bits of color, while overhead the warmsunshine filtered through canopies of russet and crimson and green. 

"I tell you the boy is infatuated with that girl, " Mr. Clarke warned hiswife from time to time. 

"What nonsense!" Mrs. Clarke answered. "He is just amusing himself a bit. He will forget her as soon as he gets out and about. "

"But the girl?"

"Oh, she's too sensible to have any hopes of that kind. She really isan exceptionally nice girl. Rather too frank in her speech, andfrequently ungrammatical and slangy, but I don't know what we should dowithout her. "

But even Mrs. Clarke's complacence was a bit shaken as the weeks slippedaway, and Mac's obsession became the gossip of the household. To be sure, so long as Nance continued to regard the whole matter as a joke andrefused to take Mac seriously, no harm would be done. But that veryindifference that assured his adoring mother, at the same time piqued herpride. That an ordinary trained nurse, born and brought up, Heaven knewwhere, should be insensible to Mac's even transient attention almostamounted to an impertinence. Quite unconsciously she began to break downNance's defenses. 

"You must be very good to my boy, dear, " she said one day in her gentle, coaxing way. "I know he's a bit capricious and exacting at times. But wecan't afford to cross him now when he is just beginning to improve. Hewas terribly upset last night when you teased him about leaving. "

"But I ought to go, Mrs. Clarke. He'd get along just as well now withanother nurse. Besides I only promised--"

"Not another word!" implored Mrs. Clarke in instant alarm. "I wouldn'tanswer for the consequences if you left us now. Mac goes all to pieceswhen it is suggested. He has always been so used to having his own way, you know. "

Yes, Nance knew. Between her unceasing efforts to get him well, and hergrim determination to keep the situation well in hand, she had unlimitedopportunity of finding out. The physicians agreed that his chances forrecovery were one to three. It was only by the most persistent observanceof certain regulations pertaining to rest, diet, and fresh air, that theyheld out any hope of arresting the malady that had already made suchalarming headway. Nance realized from the first that it was to be a fightagainst heavy odds, and she gallantly rose to the emergency. Aside fromthe keen personal interest she took in Mac, and the sympathy she felt forhis stricken parents, she had an immense pride in her first private case, on which she was determined to win her spurs. 

For three months now she had controlled the situation. With undauntedperseverance she had made Mac submit to authority and succeeded insuccessfully combatting his mother's inclination to yield to his everywhim. The gratifying result was that Mac was gradually putting on fleshand, with the exception of a continued low fever, was showing decidedimprovement. Already talk of a western flight was in the air. 

The whole matter hinged at present on Mac's refusal to go unless Nancecould be induced to accompany them. The question had been argued fromevery conceivable angle, and gradually a conspiracy had been formedbetween Mac and his mother to overcome her apparently absurd resistance. 

"It isn't as if she had any good reason, " Mrs. Clarke complained to herhusband, with tears in her eyes. "She has no immediate family, and shemight just as well be on duty in California as in Kentucky. I don't seehow she can refuse to go when she sees how weak Mac is, and how hedepends on her. "

"The girl's got more sense than all the rest of you put together!" saidMr. Clarke. "She sees the way things are going. "

"Well, what if Mac is in love with her?" asked Mrs. Clarke, for the firsttime frankly facing the situation. "Of course it's just his sick fancy, but he is in no condition to be argued with. The one absolutely necessarything is to get her to go with us. Suppose you ask her. Perhaps that'swhat she is waiting for. "

"And you are willing to take the consequences?"

"I am willing for anything on earth that will help me keep my boy, "sobbed Mrs. Clarke, resorting to a woman's surest weapon. 

So Mr. Clarke turned his ponderous batteries upon the situation, usingmoney as the ammunition with which he was most familiar. 

The climax was reached one night toward the end of October when thefirst heavy hoar-frost of the season gave premonitory threat of comingwinter. The family was still at dinner, and Mac was having his from atray before the library fire. The heavy curtains had been drawn againstthe chill world without, and the long room was a soft harmony of dullreds and browns, lit up here and there by rose-shaded lamps. 

It was a luxurious room, full of trophies of foreign travel. The longwalls were hung with excellent pictures; the floors were covered withrare rugs; the furniture was selected with perfect taste. Every detailhad been elaborately and skilfully worked out by an eminent decorator. Only one insignificant item had been omitted. In the length and breadthof the library, not a book was to be seen. 

Mac, letting his soup cool while he read the letter Nance had justbrought him, gave an exclamation of surprise. 

"By George! Monte Pearce is going to get married!"

Nance laughed. 

"I've got a tintype of Mr. Monte settling down. Who's the girl?"

"A cousin of his in Honolulu. Her father is a sugar king; no end of cash. Think of old Monte landing a big fish like that!"

"That's what you'll be doing when you get out to your ranch. "

"I intend to take my girl along. "

"You'll have to get her first. "

Mac turned on her with an invalid's fretfulness. "See here, Nance, "he cried, "cut that out, will you? Either you go, or I stay, do yousee? I know I'm a fool about you, but I can't help it. Nance, whydon't you love me?"

Nance looked down at him helplessly. She had been refusing him on anaverage of twice a day for the past week, and her powers of resistancewere weakening. The hardest granite yields in the end to the persistentdropping of water. However much the clear-headed, independent side of hermight refuse him, to another side of her he was strangely appealing. Often when she was near him, the swift remembrance of other days filledher with sudden desire to yield, if only for a moment, to his insatiabledemands. Despite her most heroic resolution, she sometimes relaxed hervigilance as she did to-night, and allowed her hand to rest in his. 

Mac made the most of the moment. 

"I don't ask you to promise me anything, Nance. I just ask you to comewith me!" he pleaded, with eloquent eyes, "we can get a couple of poniesand scour the trails all over those old mountains. At Coronada there'sbully sea bathing. And the motoring--why you can go for a hundred milesstraight along the coast!"

Nance's eyes kindled, but she shook her head. "You can do all thatwithout me. All I do is to jack you up and make you take care ofyourself. I should think you 'd hate me, Mr. Mac. "

"Well, I don't. Sometimes I wish I did. I love you even when you comedown on me hardest. A chap gets sick of being mollycoddled. When you fireup and put your saucy little chin in the air, and tell me I sha'n't havea cocktail, and call me a fool for stealing a smoke, it bucks me up morethan anything. By George, I believe I'd amount to something if you'd takeme permanently in hand. "

Nance laughed, and he pulled her down on the arm of his chair. 

"Say you'll marry me, Nance, " he implored. "You'll learn to care for meall right. You want to get out and see the world. I'll take you. We'll goout to Honolulu and see Monte. Mother will talk the governor over; she'spromised. They'll give me anything I want, and I want you. Oh, Nancedarling, don't leave me to fight through this beastly business alone!"

There was a haunted look of fear in his eyes as he clung to her thatappealed to her more than his former demands had ever done. Instinctivelyher strong, tender hands closed over his thin, weak ones. 

"Nobody expects you to fight it through alone, " she reassured him, "butyou come on down off this high horse! We'll be having another bad nightthe first thing you know. "

"They'll all be bad if you don't come with me, Nance. I won't ask you tosay yes to-night, but for God's sake don't say no!"

Nance observed the brilliancy of his eyes and the flush on his thincheeks, and knew that his fever was rising. 

"All right, " she promised lightly. "I won't say no to-night, if you'llstop worrying. I'm going to fix you nice and comfy on the couch and notlet you say another word. "

But when she had got him down on the couch, nothing would do but she mustsit on the hassock beside him and soothe his aching head. Sometimes hestopped her stroking hand to kiss it, but for the most part he lay witheyes half-closed and elaborated his latest whim. 

"We could stay awhile in Honolulu and then go on to Japan and China. Iwant to see India, too, and Mandalay, . .. Somewhere east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, And there aren't no Ten Commandments

--you remember Kipling's Mandalay?"

Nance couldn't remember what she had never known, but she did not sayso. Since her advent at Hillcrest she had learned to observe and listenwithout comment. This was not her world, and her shrewd common-sense toldher so again and again. Even the servants who moved with such easyfamiliarity about their talks were more at home than she. It had kept herwits busy to meet the situation. But now that she had got over her firstawkwardness, she found the new order of things greatly to her liking. Forthe first time in her life she was moving in a world of beautifulobjects, agreeable sounds, untroubled relations, and that starved side ofher that from the first had cried out for order and beauty and harmonyfed ravenously upon the luxury around her. 

And this was what Mac was offering her, --her, Nance Molloy of CalvaryAlley, --who up to four years ago had never known anything but barefloors, flickering gas-jets, noise, dirt, confusion. He wanted her tomarry him; he needed her. 

She ceased to listen to his rambling talk, her eyes rested dreamily onthe glowing back-log. After all didn't every woman want to marry and havea home of her own, and later perhaps--Twenty-four at Christmas! Almost anold maid! And to think Mr. Mac had gone on caring for her all theseyears, that he still wanted her when he had all those girls in his ownworld to choose from. Not many men were constant like that, she thought, as an old memory stabbed her. 

Then she was aware that her hand was held fast to a hot cheek, and that apair of burning eyes were watching her. 

"Nance!" Mac whispered eagerly, "you're giving in! You're going with me!"

A step in the hall made Nance scramble to her feet just before Mrs. Clarke came in from the dining-room. 

"I thought we should never get through dinner!" said that lady, with animpatient sigh. "The bishop can talk of nothing else but his new hobby, and do you know he's actually persuaded your father to give one of thetenements back of the cathedral for the free clinic!"

Nance who was starting out with the tray, put it down suddenly. 

"How splendid!" she cried. "Which house is it?"

"I don't know, I am sure. But they are going to put a lot of money intodoing it over, and Dr. Adair has offered to take entire charge of it. Formy part I think it is a great mistake. Just think what that money wouldmean to our poor mission out in Mukden! These shiftless people here athome have every chance to live decently. It's not our fault if theyrefuse to take advantage of their opportunities. "

"But they don't know how, Mrs. Clarke! If Dr. Adair could teach themothers--"

Mrs. Clarke lifted her hands in laughing protest. 

"My dear girl, don't you know that mothers can't be taught? The mostignorant mother alive has more instinctive knowledge of what is good forher child than any man that ever lived! Mac, dearest, why didn't you eatyour grapes?"

"Because I loathe grapes. Nance is going to work them off on an old sickman she knows. "

"Some one at the hospital?" Mrs. Clarke asked idly. 

"No, " said Nance, "it's an old gentleman who lives down in the veryplace we're talking about. He's been sick for weeks. It's all rightabout the grapes?"

"Why, of course. Take some oranges, too, and tell the gardener to giveyou some flowers. The dahlias are going to waste this year. Mac, youlook tired!"

He shook off her hand impatiently. 

"No, I'm not. I feel like a two-year old. Nance thinks perhaps she may gowith us after all. "

"Of course she will!" said Mrs. Clarke, with a confident smile at thegirl. "We are going to be so good to her that she will not have theheart to refuse. "

Mrs. Clarke with her talent for self-deception had almost convincedherself that Nance was a fairy princess who had languished in a netherworld of obscurity until Mac's magic smile had restored her to her own. 

Nance evaded an answer by fleeing to the white and red breakfast-roomwhere the butler was laying the cloth for her dinner. As a rule sheenjoyed these tête-à-têtes with the butler. He was a solemn andpretentious Englishman whom she delighted in shocking by acting andtalking in a manner that was all too natural to her. But to-night shesubmitted quite meekly to his lordly condescension. 

She ate her dinner in dreamy abstraction, her thoughts on Mac and theenticing prospects he had held out. After all what was the use infighting against all the kindness and affection? If they were willing totake the risk of her going with them, why should she hesitate? They knewshe was poor and uneducated and not of their world, and they couldn'thelp seeing that Mac was in love with her. And still they wanted her. 

California! Honolulu! Queer far-off lands full of queer people! Big shipsthat would carry her out of the sight and sound of Calvary Alley forever!And Mac, well and happy, making a man of himself, giving her everythingin the world she wanted. 

Across her soaring thoughts struck the voices from the adjoiningdining-room, Mr. Clarke's sharp and incisive, the bishop's suave andunctious. Suddenly a stray sentence arrested her attention and shelistened with her glass half-way to her lips. 

"It is the labor question that concerns us more than the war, " Mr. Clarke was saying. "I have just succeeded in signing up with a man Ihave been after for four years. He is a chap named Lewis, the only manin this part of the country who seems to be able to cope with theproblem of union labor. "

"A son of General Lewis?"

"No, no. Just a common workman who got his training at our factory. Heleft me five or six years ago without rhyme or reason, and went over tothe Ohio Glass Works, where he has made quite a name for himself. I had atussle to get him back, but he comes to take charge next month. He is oneof those rare men you read about, but seldom find, a practical idealist. "

Nance left her ice untouched, and slipped through the back entry and upto the dainty blue bedroom that had been hers now for three months. Allthe delicious languor of the past hour was gone, and in its place was aturmoil of hope and fear and doubt. Dan was coming back. The words beaton her brain. He cared nothing for her, and he was married, and she wouldnever see him, but he was coming back. 

She opened the drawer of her dressing table and took out a small fadedphotograph which she held to the silk-shaded lamp. It was a cheaplikeness of an awkward-looking working-boy in his Sunday clothes, a stifflock of unruly hair across his temple, and a pair of fine earnest eyeslooking out from slightly scowling brows. 

Nance looked at it long and earnestly; then she flung it back in thedrawer with a sigh and, putting out the light, went down again toher patient. 

CHAPTER XXXI

MR. DEMRY

The next afternoon, armed with her flowers and fruit, Nance wassetting forth for Calvary Alley, when Mrs. Clarke called to her froman upper window. 

"If you will wait ten minutes, I will take you down in the machine. "

"But I want the walk, " Nance insisted. "I need the exercise. "

"Nonsense, you are on your feet nearly all the time. I won't be long. "

Nance made a wry face at an unoffending sparrow and glanced regretfullyat the long white road that wound invitingly in and out of the woodsuntil it dropped sharply to the little station in the valley a milebelow. She had been looking forward to that walk all morning. She wantedto get away from the hot-house atmosphere of the Clarke establishment, away from Mac's incessant appeals and his mother's increasing dependence. Aside from amusing her patient and seeing that he obeyed Dr. Adair'sorders, her duties for the past few weeks had been too light to beinteresting. The luxury that at first had so thrilled her was alreadybeginning to pall. She wanted to be out in the open alone, to feel thesharp wind of reality in her face, while she thought things out. 

"I am going to the cathedral, " said Mrs. Clarke, emerging from thedoor, followed by a maid carrying coats and rugs. "But I can drop youwherever you say. "

"I'll go there, too, " said Nance as she took her seat in the car. "Theold gentleman I'm taking the things to lives just back of there, in thevery house Dr. Adair is trying to get for the clinic. "

"Poor soul!" said Mrs. Clarke idly, as she viewed with approval Nance'ssmall brown hat that so admirably set off the lights in her hair and thewarm red tints of her skin. 

"He's been up against it something fierce for over a year now, " Nancewent on. "We've helped him all he'd let us since he stopped playing atthe theater. "

"Playing?" Mrs. Clarke repeated the one word that had caught herwandering attention. "Is he an actor?"

"No; he is a musician. He used to play in big orchestras in New York andBoston. He plays the fiddle. "

For the rest of the way into town Mrs. Clarke was strangely preoccupied. She sat very straight, with eyes slightly contracted, and looked absentlyout of the window. Once or twice she began a sentence without finishingit. At the cathedral steps she laid a detaining hand on Nance's arm. 

"By the way, what did you say was the name of the old man you aregoing to see?"

"I never said. It's Demry. "

"Demry--Never mind, I just missed the step. I'm quite all right. I thinkI will go with you to see this--this--house they are talking about. "

"But it's in the alley. Mrs. Clarke; it's awfully dirty. "

"Yes, yes, but I'm coming. Can we go through here?"

So impatient was she that she did not wait for Nance to lead the way, buthurried around the bishop's study and down the concrete walk to the gatethat opened into the alley. 

"Look out for your skirt against the garbage barrel, " warned Nance. Itembarrassed her profoundly to have Mrs. Clarke in these surroundings; shehated the mud that soiled her dainty boots, the odors that must offendher nostrils, the inevitable sights that awaited her in Number One. Sheonly prayed that Mrs. Snawdor's curl-papered head might not appear on theupper landing. 

"Which way?" demanded Mrs. Clarke, impatiently. 

Nance led the way into the dark hall where a half-dozen ragged, dirty-faced children were trying to drag a still dirtier pup up thestairs by means of a twine string. 

"In here, Mrs. Clarke, " said Nance, pushing open the door at the left

The outside shutters of the big cold room were partly closed, but thelight from between them fell with startling effect on the white, marble-like face of the old man who lay asleep on a cot in front of theempty fireplace. For a moment Mrs. Clarke stood looking at him; then witha smothered cry she bent over him. 

"Father!" she cried sharply, "Oh, God! It's my father!"

Nance caught her breath in amazement; then her bewildered gaze fell upona familiar object. There, in its old place on the mantel stood theminiature of a pink and white maiden in the pink and white dress, withthe golden curl across her shoulder. In the delicate, beautiful profileNance read the amazing truth. 

Mr. Demry sighed heavily, opened his eyes with an effort and, lookingpast the bowed head beside him, held out a feeble hand for the flowers. 

"Listen, Mr. Demry, " said Nance, breathlessly. "Here's a lady says sheknows you. Somebody you haven't seen for a long, long time. Will you lookat her and try to remember?"

His eyes rested for the fraction of a minute on the agonized face liftedto his, then closed wearily. 

"Can you not get the lady a chair, Nancy?" he asked feebly. "You canborrow one from the room across the hall. "

"Father!" demanded Mrs. Clarke, "don't you know me? It is Elise. Yourdaughter, Elise Demorest!"

"Demorest, " he repeated, and smiled. "How unnatural it sounds now!Demorest!"

"It's no use, " said Nance. "His mind wanders most of the time. Let metake you back to the cathedral, Mrs. Clarke, until we decide what's gotto be done. "

"I am going to take him home, " said Mrs. Clarke, wildly. "He shall haveevery comfort and luxury I can give him. Poor Father, don't you want tocome home with Elise?"

"I live at Number One, Calvary Alley, " said Mr. Demry, clinging to theone fact he had trained his mind to remember. "If you will kindly get meto the corner, the children will--"

"It's too late to do anything!" cried Mrs. Clarke, wringing her hands. "Iknew something terrible would happen to him. I pleaded with them to helpme find him, but they put me off. Then I got so absorbed in Mac that hedrove everything else out of my mind. How long has he been in this awfulplace? How long has he been ill? Who takes care of him?"

Nance, with her arms about Mrs. Clarke, told her as gently as she couldof Mr. Demry's advent into the alley fourteen years before, of hisfriendship with the children, his occasional lapses from grace, and thesteady decline of his fortune. 

"We must get him away from here!" cried Mrs. Clarke when she had gainedcontrol of herself. "Go somewhere and telephone Mr. Clarke. Telephone Dr. Adair. Tell him to bring an ambulance and another nurse and--and plentyof blankets. Telephone to the house for them to get a room ready. Butwait--there's Mac--he mustn't know--"

It was the old, old mother-cry! Keep it from Mac, spare Mac, don't letMac suffer. Nance seized on it now to further her designs. 

"You go back to Mr. Mac, Mrs. Clarke. I'll stay here and attend toeverything. You go ahead and get things ready for us. "

And Mrs. Clarke, used to taking the easiest way, allowed herself to bepersuaded, and after one agonized look at the tranquil face on thepillow, hurried away. 

Nance, shivering with the cold, got together the few articles thatconstituted Mr. Demry's worldly possessions. A few shabby garments in theold wardrobe, the miniature on the shelf, a stack of well-worn books, andthe violin in its rose-wood case. Everything else had been sold to keepthe feeble flame alive in that wasted old form. 

Nance looked about her with swimming eyes. She recalled the one happyChristmas that her childhood had known. The gay garlands of tissue paper, the swinging lanterns, the shelf full of oranges and doughnuts, and thebeaming old face smiling over the swaying fiddle bow! And to think thatMrs. Clarke's own father had hidden away here all these years, utterlyfriendless except for the children, poor to the point of starvation, sickto the point of death, grappling with his great weakness in heroicsilence, and going down to utter oblivion rather than obtrude hismisfortune upon the one he loved best. 

As the old man's fairy tales had long ago stirred Nance's imagination andwakened her to the beauty of invisible things, so now his broken, futilelife, with its one great glory of renunciation, called out to the soul ofher and roused in her a strange, new sense of spiritual beauty. 

For one week he lived among the luxurious surroundings of his daughter'shome. Everything that skill and money could do, was done to restore himto health and sanity. But he saw only the sordid sights he had beenseeing for the past fourteen years; he heard only the sounds to which hisold ears had become accustomed. 

"You would better move my cot, Nancy, " he would say, plucking at thesilken coverlid. "They are scrubbing the floor up in the Lavinski flat. The water always comes through. " And again he would say: "It is nice andwarm in here, but I am afraid you are burning too much coal, dear. Icannot get another bucket until Saturday. "

One day Mrs. Clarke saw him take from his tray, covered with delicacies, a half-eaten roll and slip it under his pillow. 

"We must save it, " he whispered confidentially, "save it for to-morrow. "In vain they tried to reassure him; the haunting poverty that had stalkedbeside him in life refused to be banished by death. 

Mrs. Clarke remained "the lady" to him to the end. When he spoke to her, his manner assumed a faint dignity, with a slight touch of gallantry, theunmistakable air of a gentleman of the old school towards an attractivestranger of the opposite sex. 

His happiest hours were those when he fancied the children were with him. 

"Gently! gently!" he would say; "there is room for everybody. This kneeis for Gussie Gorman, this one for Joe, because they are the smallest, you know. Now are you ready?" And then he would whisper fairy stories, smiling at the ceiling, and making feeble gestures with his wasted oldhands. 

The end came one day after he had lain for hours in a stupor. He stirredsuddenly and asked for his violin. 

"I must go--to the--theater, Nancy, " he murmured. "I--do not want--tobe--a--burden. "

They laid the instrument in his arms, and his fingers groped feebly overthe strings; then his chin sank into its old accustomed place, and agreat light dawned in his eyes. Mr. Demry, who was used to seeinginvisible things, had evidently caught the final vision. 

That night, worn with nursing and full of grief for the passing of herold friend, Nance threw a coat about her and slipped out on the terrace. Above her, nebulous stars were already appearing, and their twinklingwas answered by responsive gleams in the city below. Against the velvetydusk two tall objects towered in the distance, the beautiful Gothicspire of the cathedral, and the tall, unseemly gas pipe of Clarke'sBottle Factory. Between them, under a haze of smoke and grime, layCalvary Alley. 

"I don't know which is worse, " thought Nance fiercely, "to be down therein the mess, fighting and struggling and suffering to get the things youwant, or up here with the mummies who haven't got anything left to wishfor. I wish life wasn't just a choice between a little hard green appleand a rotten big one!"

She leaned her elbows on the railing and watched the new moon dodgingbehind the tree trunks and, as she watched, she grappled with theproblem of life, at first bitterly and rebelliously, then with a dawningcomprehension of its meaning. After all was the bishop, with hisconspicuous virtues and his well-known dislike of children, any betterthan old Mr. Demry, with his besetting sin and his beautiful influence onevery child with whom he came in contact? Was Mr. Clarke, workingchildren under age in the factory to build up a great fortune for hisson, very different from Mr. Lavinski, with his sweat-shop, hoardingpennies for the ambitious Ikey? Was Mrs. Clarke, shirking her duty to herfather, any happier or any better than Mrs. Snawdor, shirking hers to herchildren? Was Mac, adored and petted and protected, any better thanBirdie, now in the state asylum paying the penalty of their jointmisdeed? Was the tragedy in the great house back of her any more poignantthan the tragedy of Dan Lewis bound by law to an insane wife and burdenedwith a child that was not his own? She seemed to see for the first timethe great illuminating truth that the things that make men alike in theworld are stronger than the things that make them different. And in thisrealization an overwhelming ambition seized her. Some hidden spiritualforce rose to lift her out of the contemplation of her own interests intosomething of ultimate value to her fellowmen. 

After all, those people down there in Calvary Alley were her people, andshe meant to stand by them. It had been the dream of her life to get outand away, but in that moment she knew that wherever she went, she wouldalways come back. Others might help from the top, but she could helpunderstandingly from the bottom. With the magnificent egotism of youth, she outlined gigantic schemes on the curtain of the night. Some day, somehow, she would make people like the Clarkes see the life of the pooras it really was, she would speak for the girls in the factories, in thesweatshops, on the stage. She would be an interpreter between the richand the poor and make them serve each other. 

"Nance!" called an injured voice from the music room behind her, "what inthe mischief are you doing out there in the cold? Come on in here andamuse me. I'm half dead with the dumps!"

"All right, Mr. Mac. I'm coming, " she said cheerfully, as she stepped inthrough the French window and closed it against her night of dreams. 

CHAPTER XXXII

THE NEW FOREMAN

The Dan Lewis who came back to Clarke's Bottle Factory was a verydifferent man from the one who had walked out of it five years before. Hehad gone out a stern, unforgiving, young ascetic, accepting nocompromise, demanding perfection of himself and of his fellow-men. Thevery sublimity of his dream doomed it to failure. Out of the crumblingideals of his boyhood he had struggled to a foothold on life that hadnever been his in the old days. His marriage to Birdie Smelts had beenthe fiery furnace in which his soul had been softened to receive thefinal stamp of manhood. 

For his hour of indiscretion he had paid to the last ounce of hisstrength and courage. After that night in the lodging-house, there seemedto him but one right course, and he took it with unflinching promptness. Even when Birdie, secure in the protection of his name and his support, lapsed into her old vain, querulous self, he valiantly bore his burden, taking any menial work that he could find to do, and getting a sort ofgrim satisfaction out of what he regarded as expiation for his sin. 

But when he became aware of Birdie's condition and realized the use shehad made of him, the tragedy broke upon him in all of its horror. Thenhe, too, lost sight of the shore lights, and went plunging desperatelyinto the stream of life with no visible and sustaining ideal to guidehis course, but only the fighting necessity to get across as decentlyas possible. 

After a long struggle he secured a place in the Ohio Glass Works, wherehis abilities soon began to be recognized. Instead of working now withtingling enthusiasm for Nance and the honeysuckle cottage, he workeddoggedly and furiously to meet the increasing expense of Birdie'swastefulness and the maintenance of her child. 

Year by year he forged ahead, gaining a reputation for sound judgment andfair dealing that made him an invaluable spokesman between the employerand the employed. He set himself seriously to work to get at the realconditions that were causing the ferment of unrest among the workingclasses. He made himself familiar with socialistic and labor newspapers;he attended mass meetings; he laid awake nights reading and wrestlingwith the problems of organized industrialism. His honest resentmentagainst the injustice shown the laboring man was always nicely balancedby his intolerance of the haste and ignorance and misrepresentation ofthe labor agitators. He was one of the few men who could be called uponto arbitrate differences, whom both factions invariably pronounced"square. " When pressure was brought to bear upon him to return toClarke's, he was in a position to dictate his own terms. 

It was the second week after his reinstatement that he came up to theoffice one day and unexpectedly encountered Nance Molloy. At first he didnot recognize the tall young lady in the well-cut brown suit with the bitof fur at the neck and wrists and the jaunty brown hat with its dash ofgold. Then she looked up, and it was Nance's old smile that flashed outat him, and Nance's old impulsive self that turned to greet him. 

For one radiant moment all that had happened since they last stood therewas swept out of the memory of each; then it came back; and they shookhands awkwardly and could find little to say to each other in thepresence of the strange stenographer who occupied Nance's old place atthe desk by the window. 

"They told me you weren't working here, " said Dan at length. 

"I'm not. I've just come on an errand for Mrs. Clarke. "

Dan's eyes searched hers in swift inquiry. 

"I'm a trained nurse now, " she said, determined to take the situationlightly. "You remember how crazy I used to be about doping people?"

He did not answer, and she hurried on as if afraid of any silence thatmight fall between them. 

"It all started with the smallpox in Calvary Alley. Been backthere, Dan?"

"Not yet. "

"Lots of changes since the old days. Mr. Snawdor and Fidy and Mrs. Smeltsand Mr. Demry all gone. Have you heard about Mr. Demry?"

Dan shook his head. He was not listening to her, but he was looking ather searchingly, broodingly, with growing insistence. 

The hammering of the type-writer was the only sound that broke theensuing pause. 

"Tell me your news, Dan, " said Nance in desperation. "Where youliving now?"

"At Mrs. Purdy's. She's going to take care of Ted for me. "

"Ted? Oh! I forgot. How old is he now?"

For the first time Dan's face lit up with his fine, rare smile. 

"He's four, Nance, and the smartest kid that ever lived! You'd becrazy about him, I know. I wonder if you couldn't go out there someday and see him?"

Nance showed no enthusiasm over the suggestion; instead she gathered upher muff and gloves and, leaving a message for Mr. Clarke with thestenographer, prepared to depart. 

"I am thinking about going away, " she said. "I may go out to Californianext week. "

The brief enthusiasm died out of Dan's face. 

"What's taking you to California?" he asked dully, as he followed herinto the hall. 

"I may go with a patient. Have you heard of the trouble they're in at theClarkes'?"

"No. "

"It's Mr. Mac. He's got tuberculosis, and they are taking him out to thecoast for a year. They want me to go along. "

Dan's face hardened. 

"So it's Mac Clarke still?" he asked bitterly. 

His tone stung Nance to the quick, and she wheeled on him indignantly. 

"See here, Dan! I've got to put you straight on a thing or two. Where canwe go to have this business out?"

He led her across the hall to his own small office and closed the door. 

"I'm going to tell you something, " she said, facing him with blazingeyes, "and I don't care a hang whether you believe it or not. I never wasin love with Mac Clarke. From the day you left this factory I never sawor wrote to him until he was brought to the hospital last July, and I wasput on the case. I didn't have anything more to do with him than I didwith you. I guess you know how much that was!"

"What about now? Are you going west with him?"

Dan confronted her with the same stern inquiry in his eyes that had shonethere the day they parted, in this very place, five years ago. 

"I don't know whether I am or not!" cried Nance, firing up. "They've doneeverything for me, the Clarkes have. They think his getting well dependson me. Of course that's rot, but that's what they think. As for Mr. Machimself--"

"Is he still in love with you?"

At this moment a boy thrust his head in the door to say that Dr. Adairhad telephoned for Miss Molloy to come by the hospital before shereturned to Hillcrest. 

Nance pulled on her gloves and, with chin in the air, was departingwithout a word, when Dan stopped her. 

"I'm sorry I spoke to you like that, Nance, " he said, scowling at thefloor. "I've got no right to be asking you questions, or criticizing whatyou do, or where you go. I hope you'll excuse me. "

"You _have_ got the right!" declared Nance, with one of her quick changesof mood. "You can ask me anything you like. I guess we can always befriends, can't we?"

"No, " said Dan, slowly, "I don't think we can. I didn't count on seeingyou like this, just us two together, alone. I thought you'd be marriedmaybe or moved away some place. "

It was Nance's time to be silent, and she listened with wide eyes andparted lips. 

"I mustn't see you--alone--any more, Nance, " Dan went on haltingly. "Butwhile we are here I want to tell you about it. Just this once, Nance, ifyou don't mind. "

He crossed over and stood before her, his hands gripping a chair back. 

"When I went away from here, " he began, "I thought you had passed me upfor Mac Clarke. It just put me out of business, Nance. I didn't carewhere I went or what I did. Then one night in Cincinnati I met Birdie, and she was up against it, too--and--"

After all he couldn't make a clean breast of it! Whatever he might saywould reflect on Birdie, and he gave the explanation up in despair. ButNance came to his rescue. 

"I know, Dan, " she said. "Mrs. Smelts told me everything. I don't knowanother fellow in the world that would have stood by a girl like you didBirdie. She oughtn't have let you marry her without telling you. "

"I think she meant to give me my freedom when the baby came, " said Dan. "At least that was what she promised. I couldn't have lived throughthose first months of hell if I hadn't thought there was some way out. But when the baby came, it was too late. Her mind was affected, and bythe law of the State I'm bound to her for the rest of her life. "

"Do you know--who--who the baby's father is, Dan?"

"No. She refused from the first to tell me, and now I'm glad I don'tknow. She said the baby was like him, and that made her hate it. That wasthe way her trouble started. She wouldn't wash the little chap, or feedhim, or look after him when he was sick. I had to do everything. For ayear she kept getting worse and worse, until one night I caught hertrying to set fire to his crib. Of course after that she had to be sentto the asylum, and from that time on, Ted and I fought it out together. One of the neighbors took charge of him in the day, and I wrestled withhim at night. "

"Couldn't you put him in an orphan asylum?"

Dan shook his head. 

"No, I couldn't go back on him when he was up against a deal like that. Imade up my mind that I'd never let him get lonesome like I used to be, with nobody to care a hang what became of him. He's got my name now, andhe'll never know the difference if I can help it. "

"And Birdie? Does she know you when you go to see her?"

"Not for two years now. It's easier than when she did. "

There was silence between them; then Nance said:

"I'm glad you told me all this, Dan. I--I wish I could help you. "

"You can't, " said Dan, sharply. "Don't you see I've got no right to bewith you? Do you suppose there's been a week, or a day in all these yearsthat I haven't wanted you with every breath I drew? The rest was just anightmare I was living through in order to wake up and find you. Nance--Ilove you! With my heart and soul and body! You've been the one beautifulthing in my whole life, and I wasn't worthy of you. I can't let you go!I--Oh, God! what am I saying? What right have I--Don't let me see youagain like this, Nance, don't let me talk to you--"

He stumbled to a chair by the desk and buried his head in his arms. Hisbreath came in short, hard gasps, with a long agonizing quiver between, and his broad shoulders heaved. It was the first time he had wept sincethat night, so long ago, when he had sat in the gutter in front of SlapJack's saloon and broken his heart over an erring mother. 

For one tremulous second Nance hovered over him, her face aflame withsympathy and almost maternal pity; then she pulled herself together andsaid brusquely:

"It's all right, Danny. I understand. I'm going. Good-by. "

And without looking back, she fled into the hall and down the steps tothe waiting motor. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

NANCE COMES INTO HER OWN

For two hours Nance was closeted with Dr. Adair in his private office, and when she came out she had the look of one who has been followingfalse trails and suddenly discovers the right one. 

"Don't make a hasty decision, " warned Dr. Adair in parting. "The tripwith the Clarkes will be a wonderful experience; they may be gone a yearor more, and they'll do everything and see everything in the approvedway. What I am proposing offers no romance. It will be hard work andplenty of it. You'd better think it over and give me your answerto-morrow. "

"I'll give it to you now, " said Nance. "It's yes. "

He scrutinized her quizzically; then he held out his hand with its short, thick, surgeon's fingers. 

"It's a wise decision, my dear, " he said. "Say nothing about it atpresent. I will make it all right with the Clarkes. "

During the weeks that followed, Nance was too busy to think of herselfor her own affairs. She superintended the shopping and packing for Mrs. Clarke; she acted as private secretary for Mr. Clarke; she went onendless errands, and looked after the innumerable details that a familymigration entails. 

Mac, sulking on the couch, feeling grossly abused and neglected, spentmost of his time inveighing against Dr. Adair. "He's got to let you comeout by the end of next month. " he threatened Nance, "or I'll take thefirst train home. What's he got up his sleeve anyhow?"

"Ask him, " advised Nance, over her shoulder, as she vanished into thehall. 

Toward the end of November the Clarkes took their departure; father, mother, and son, two servants, and the despised, but efficient MissHanna. Nance went down to see them off, hovering over the unsuspectingMac with feelings of mingled relief and contrition. 

"I wish you'd let me tell him, " she implored Mrs. Clarke. "He's bound toknow soon. Why not get it over with now?"

Mrs. Clarke was in instant panic. 

"Not a word, I implore you! We will break the news to him when he isbetter. Be good to him now, let him go away happy. Please, dear, for mysake!" With the strength of the weak, she carried her point. 

For the quarter of an hour before the train started, Nance resolutelykept the situation in hand, not giving Mac a chance to speak to heralone, and keeping up a running fire of nonsense that provoked even Mr. Clarke to laughter. When the "All Aboard!" sounded from without, therewas scant time for good-bys. She hurried out, and when on the platform, turned eagerly to scan the windows above her. A gust of smoke sweptbetween her and the slow-moving train; then as it cleared she caught herlast glimpse of a gay irresponsible face propped about with pillows and athin hand that threw her kisses as far as she could see. 

It was with a curious feeling of elation mingled with depression, thatshe tramped back to the hospital through the gloom of that November day. Until a month ago she had scarcely had a thought beyond Mac and theprogress of his case; even now she missed his constant demands upon her, and her heart ached for the disappointment that awaited him. But underthese disturbing thoughts something new and strange and beautiful wascalling her. 

Half mechanically she spent the rest of the afternoon reestablishingherself in the nurses' quarters at the hospital which she had left nearlyfour months before. At six o'clock she put on the gray cape and smallgray bonnet that constituted her uniform, and leaving word that she wouldreport for duty at nine o'clock, went to the corner and boarded a streetcar. It was a warm evening for November, and the car with its throng ofhome-going workers was close and uncomfortable. But Nance, clinging to astrap, and jostled on every side, was superbly indifferent to hersurroundings. With lifted chin and preoccupied eyes, she held counselwith herself, sometimes moving her lips slightly as if rehearsing a part. At Butternut Lane she got out and made her way to the old white housemidway of the square. 

A little boy was perched on the gate post, swinging a pair of fat legsand trying to whistle. There was no lack of effort on his part, but thewhistle for some reason refused to come. He tried hooking a small fingerinside the corners of his mouth; he tried it with teeth together andteeth apart. 

Nance, sympathizing with his thwarted ambition, smiled as she approached;then she caught her breath. The large brown eyes that the child turnedupon her were disconcertingly familiar. 

"Is this Ted?" she asked. 

He nodded mistrustfully; then after surveying her gravely, evidentlythought better of her and volunteered the information that he was waitingfor his daddy. 

"Where is Mrs. Purdy?" Nance asked. 

"Her's making me a gingerbread man. "

"I know a story about a gingerbread man; want to hear it?"

"Is it scareful?" asked Ted. 

"No, just funny, " Nance assured. Then while he sat very still on the gatepost, with round eyes full of wonder, Nance stood in front of him withhis chubby fists in her hands and told him one of Mr. Demry's old fairytales. So absorbed were they both that neither of them heard anapproaching step until it was quite near. 

"Daddy!" cried Ted, in sudden rapture, scrambling down from the post andhurling himself against the new-comer. 

But for once his daddy's first greeting was not for him. Dan seizedNance's outstretched hand and studied her face with hungry, inquiring eyes. 

"I've come to say good-by, Dan, " she said in a matter-of-fact tone. 

His face hardened. 

"Then you are going with the Clarkes? You've decided?"

"I've decided. Can't we go over to the summer-house for a few minutes. Iwant to talk to you. "

They crossed the yard to the sheltered bower in its cluster of baretrees, while Ted trudged behind them kicking up clouds of dead leaveswith his small square-toed boots. 

"You run in to Mother Purdy, Teddykins, " said Dan, but Nance caught thechild's hand. 

"Better keep him here, " she said with an unsteady laugh. "I got to getsomething off my chest once and for all; then I'll skidoo. "

But Ted had already spied a squirrel and gone in pursuit, and Nance'seyes followed him absently. 

"When I met you in the office the other day, " she said, "I thought Icould bluff it through. But when I saw you all knocked up like that; andknew that you cared--" Her eyes came back to his. "Dan we might as wellface the truth. "

"You mean--"

"I mean I'm going to wait for you if I have to wait forever. You're notfree now, but when you are, I'll come to you. "

He made one stride toward her and swept her into his arms. 

"Do you mean it, girl?" he asked, his voice breaking with the unexpectedjoy. "You are going to stand by me? You are going to wait?"

"Let me go, Dan!" she implored. "Where's Ted? I mustn't stay--I--"

But Dan held her as if he never meant to let her go, and suddenly sheceased to struggle or to consider right or wrong or consequences. Shelifted her head and her lips met his in complete surrender. For thefirst time in her short and stormy career she had found exactly whatshe wanted. 

For a long time they stood thus; then Dan recovered himself with astart. 

He pushed her away from him almost roughly. "Nance, I didn't mean to! Iwon't again! Only I've wanted you so long, I've been so unhappy. I can'tlet you leave me now! I can't let you go with the Clarkes!"

"You don't have to. They've gone without me. "

"But you said you'd come to say good-by. I thought you were starting toCalifornia. "

"Well, I'm not. I am going to stay right here. Dr. Adair has asked me totake charge of the clinic--the new one they are going to open inCalvary Alley. "

"And we're going to be near each other, able to see each otherevery day--"

But she stopped him resolutely. 

"No, Dan, no. I knew we couldn't do that before I came to-night. Now Iknow it more than ever. Don't you see we got to cut it all out? Got tokeep away from each other just the same as if I was in California and youwere here?"

Dan's big strong hands again seized hers. 

"It won't be wrong for us just to see each other, " he urged hotly. "Ipromise never to say a word of love or to touch you, Nance. What'shappened to-night need never happen again. We can hold on to ourselves;we can be just good friends until--"

But Nance pulled her hands away impatiently. 

"You might. I couldn't. I tell you I got to keep away from you, Dan. Can't you see? Can't you understand? I counted on you to see the right ofit. I thought you was going to help me!" And with an almost angry sob, she sat down suddenly on the leaf-strewn bench and, locking her armsacross the railing, dropped her flaming face upon them. 

For a long time he stood watching her, while, his face reflected theconflicting emotions that were fighting within him for mastery. Then intohis eyes crept a look of dumb compassion, the same look he had once benton a passion-tossed little girl lying on the seat of a patrol-wagon inthe chill dusk of a Christmas night. 

He straightened his shoulders and laid a firm hand on her bowed head. 

"You must stop crying, Nance, " he commanded with the stern tenderness hewould have used toward Ted. "Perhaps you are right; God knows. At anyrate we are going to do whatever you say in this matter. I promise tokeep out of your way until you say I can come. "

Nance drew a quivering breath, and smiled up at him through her tears. 

"That's not enough, Dan; you got to keep away whether I say to come ornot. You're stronger and better than what I am. You got to promise thatwhatever happens you'll make me be good. "

And Dan with trembling lips and steady eyes made her the solemn promise. 

Then, sitting there in the twilight, with only the dropping of a leaf tobreak the silence, they poured out their confidences, eager to reach acomplete understanding in the brief time they had allotted themselves. Inminute detail they pieced together the tangled pattern of the past; theypoured out their present aims and ambitions, coming back again and againto the miracle of their new-found love. Of their personal future, theydared not speak. It was locked to them, and death alone held the key. 

Darkness had closed in when the side door of the house across the yardwas flung open, and a small figure came plunging toward them through thecrackling leaves. 

"It's done, Daddy!" cried an excited voice. "It's the cutest littlegingerbread man. And supper's ready, and he's standing up by my plate. "

"All right!" said Dan, holding out one hand to him and one to Nance. "We'll all go in together to see the gingerbread man. "

"But, Dan--"

"Just this once; it's our good-by night, you know. "

Nance hesitated, then straightening the prim little gray bonnet thatwould assume a jaunty tilt, she followed the tall figure and the shortone into the halo of light that circled the open door. 

The evening that followed was one of those rare times, insignificant initself, every detail of which was to stand out in after life, chargedwith significance. For Nance, the warmth and glow of the homely littlehouse, with its flowered carpets and gay curtains, the beaming face ofold Mrs. Purdy in its frame of silver curls, the laughter of the happychild, and above all the strong, tender presence of Dan, were thingsnever to be forgotten. 

At eight o'clock she rose reluctantly, saying that she had to go by theSnawdors' before she reported at the hospital at nine o'clock. 

"Do you mind if I go that far with you?" asked Dan, wistfully. 

On their long walk across the city they said little. Their way led thempast many familiar places, the school house, the old armory, CemeteryStreet, Post-Office Square, where they used to sit and watch theelectric signs. Of the objects they passed, Dan was superbly unaware. Hesaw only Nance. But she was keenly aware of every old association thatbound them together. Everything seemed strangely beautiful to her, theglamorous shop-lights cutting through the violet gloom, the subtlemessages of lighted windows, the passing faces of her fellow-men. Inthat gray world her soul burned like a brilliant flame lighting upeverything around her. 

As they turned into Calvary Alley the windows of the cathedral glowedsoftly above them. 

"I never thought how pretty it was before!" said Nance, rapturously. "Say, Dan, do you know what 'Evol si dog' means?"

"No; is it Latin?"

She squeezed his arm between her two hands and laughed gleefully. 

"You're as bad as me, " she said, "I'm not going to tell you; you got togo inside and find out for yourself. "

On the threshold of Number One they paused again. Even the almostdeserted old tenement, blushing under a fresh coat of red paint, took ona hue of romance. 

"You wait 'til we get it fixed up, " said Nance. "They're taking out allthe partitions in the Smelts' flat, and making a big consulting room ofit. And over here in Mr. Demry's room I'm going to have the baby clinic. I'm going to have boxes of growing flowers in every window; andstorybooks and--"

"Yes, " cried Dan, fiercely, "you are going to be so taken up with allthis that you won't need me; you'll forget about to-night!"

But her look silenced him. 

"Dan, " she said very earnestly, "I always have needed you, and I alwayswill. I love you better than anything in the world, and I'm trying toprove it. "

A wavering light on the upper landing warned them that they might beoverheard. A moment later some one demanded to know who was there. 

"Come down and see!" called Nance. 

Mrs. Snawdor, lamp in hand, cautiously descended. 

"Is that you, Nance?" she cried. "It's about time you was comin' to seeto the movin' an' help tend to things. Who's that there with you?"

"Don't you know?"

"Well, if it ain't Dan Lewis!" And to Dan's great embarrassment theeffusive lady enveloped him in a warm and unexpected embrace. She evenheld him at arm's length and commented upon his appearance with frankadmiration. "I never seen any one improve so much an' yet go on favorin'theirselves. "

Nance declined to go up-stairs on the score of time, promising to come onthe following Sunday and take entire charge of the moving. 

"Ain't it like her to go git mixed up in this here fool clinic business?"Mrs. Snawdor asked of Dan. "Just when she'd got a job with rich swellsthat would 'a' took her anywhere? Here she was for about ten yearsstewin' an' fumin' to git outen the alley, an' here she is comin' backagain! She's tried about ever'thin' now, but gittin' married. "

Dan scenting danger, changed the direction of the conversation by askingher where they were moving to. 

"That's some more of her doin's, " said Mrs. Snawdor. "She's gittin' herway at las' 'bout movin' us to the country. Lobelia an' Rosy V. Is goin'to keep house, an' me an' William Jennings is going to board with 'em. You'd orter see that boy of mine, Dan. Nance got him into the 'lectricbusiness an' he's doin' somethin' wonderful. He's got my brains an' hispa's manners. You can say what you please, Mr. Snawdor was a perfectgentleman!"

It was evident from the pride in her voice that since Mr. Snawdor'sdemise he had been canonized, becoming the third member of the ghostlyfirm of Molloy, Yager, and Snawdor. 

"What about Uncle Jed?" asked Nance. "Where's he going?"

Mrs. Snawdor laughed consciously and, in doing so, exhibited to fulladvantage the dazzling new teeth that were the pride of her life. 

"Oh, Mr. Burks is goin' with us, " she said. "It's too soon to talk aboutit yet, --but--er--Oh, you know me, Nance!" And with blushing confusionthe thrice-bereaved widow hid her face in her apron. 

The clock in the cathedral tower was nearing nine when Nance and Danemerged from Number One. They did not speak as they walked up to thecorner and stood waiting for the car. Their hands were clasped hard, and she could feel his heart thumping under her wrist as he pressed itto his side. 

Passers-by jostled them on every side, and an importunate newsboyimplored patronage, but they seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Thecar turned a far corner and came toward them relentlessly. 

"God bless you, Dan, " whispered Nance as he helped her on the platform;then turning, she called back to him with one of her old flashing smiles. "And me too, a little bit!"

THE END