HOW IT HAPPENED

BY

KATE LANGLEY BOSHER

AUTHOR OF

THE MAN IN LONELY LAND, MARY CARY, ETC

ILLUSTRATED

PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 1914

TOMY FAITHFUL FRIENDARIADNE ELIZABETH VAUGHAN LATHAM

ILLUSTRATIONS

"WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST, SARDINES WITH LEMON ON 'EM, OR TOASTED CHEESEON TOAST?"

"YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY I THANK YOU NOWFOR--"

HOW IT HAPPENED

CHAPTER I

Head on the side and chin uptilted, she held it at arm's-length, turning it now in one direction, now in another, then withdeliberation she laid it on the floor. 

"I have wanted to do it ever since you were sent me; now I am goingto. "

Hands on hips, she looked down on the high-crown, narrow-brim hat ofstiff gray felt which was at her feet, and nodded at it with firmnessand decision. "It's going to be my Christmas present tomyself--getting rid of you. Couldn't anything give me as much pleasureas smashing you is going to give. Good-by--"

Raising her right foot, Carmencita held it poised for a half-momentover the hated hat, then with long-restrained energy she brought itdown on the steeple-crown and crushed it into shapelessness. "I wishshe could see you now. " Another vigorous punch was given, then with aswift movement the battered bunch of dull grayness, with its yellowbird and broken buckle of tarnished steel, was sent in the air, and asit landed across the room the child laughed gaily, ran toward it, andwith the tip of her toes tossed it here and there. Sending it now upto the ceiling, now toward the mantel, now kicking it over the table, and now to the top of the window, she danced round and round the room, laughing breathlessly. Presently she stooped, picked it up, stuck iton her head, and, going to the stove, opened its top, and with a shakeof her curls dropped the once haughty and now humbled head-gear in thefire and watched it burn with joyous satisfaction. 

"The first time she wore it we called her Coachman Cattie, it was sostiff and high and hideous, and nobody but a person like her wouldever have bought it. I never thought it would some day come to me. Some missioners are nice, some very nice, but some--"

With emphasis the lid of the stove was put back, and, going to thetable in the middle of the room, Carmencita picked up the contents ofthe little work-basket, which had been knocked over in her rushinground, and put them slowly in place. "Some missioners seem to thinkbecause you're poor everything God put in other people's hearts andminds and bodies and souls He left out of you. Of course, if youhaven't a hat you ought to be thankful for any kind. " The words camesoberly, and the tiniest bit of a quiver twisted the lips of theprotesting mouth. "You oughtn't to know whether it is pretty or uglyor becoming or--You ought just to be thankful and humble, and I'm noteither. I don't like thankful, humble people; I'm afraid of them. "

Leaving the table where for a minute she had jumbled needles andthread and scissors and buttons in the broken basket, she walkedslowly over to the tiny mirror hung above a chest of drawers, and ontiptoes nodded at the reflection before her--nodded and spoke to it. 

"You're a sinner, all right, Carmencita Bell, and there's no naturalgoodness in you. You hate hideousness, and poorness, and otherpeople's cast-offs, and emptiness in your stomach, and living on thetop floor with crying babies and a drunken father underneath, andcounting every stick of wood before you use it. And you get furiousat times because your father is blind and people have forgotten abouthis beautiful music, and you want chicken and cake when you haven'teven enough bacon and bread. You're a sinner, all right. If you werein a class of them you would be at the head. It's the only thing you'dever be at the head of. You know you're poverty-poor, and still you'realways fighting inside, always making out that it is just for a littlewhile. Why don't you--"

The words died on her lips, and suddenly the clear blue eyes, made forlove and laughter and eager for all that is lovely in life, dimmedwith hot tears, and with a half-sob she turned and threw herself facedownward on the rug-covered cot on the opposite side of the room. 

"O God, please don't let Father know!" The words came in tones thatwere terrified. "Please don't ever let him know! I wasn't born good, and I hate bad smells, and dirty things, and ugly clothes, and notenough to eat, but until I am big enough to go to work please, _please_ help me to keep Father from knowing! Please help me!"

With a twisting movement the child curled herself into a little ball, and for a moment tempestuous sobbing broke the stillness of the room, notwithstanding the knuckles of two little red hands which werepressed to the large sweet mouth. Presently she lifted the hem of herskirt and wiped her eyes, then she got up. 

"I wish I could cry as much as I want to. I never have had a placeconvenient to do it all by myself, and there's never time, but it getsthe choked things out and makes you feel much better. I don't oftenwant to, just sometimes, like before Christmas when you're crazy to doa lot of things you can't do--and some people make you so mad! If I'dbeen born different and not minding ugly things and loving prettyones, I wouldn't have hated that hat so. That's gone, anyhow. I'vebeen wanting to see how high I could kick it ever since Miss Cattiesent it to me, and now I've done it. I've got a lot of old clothes I'dlike to send to Ballyhack, but I can't send. "

She stopped, smoothed her rumpled dress, and shook back the long loosecurls which had fallen over her face. "I must be getting sorry formyself. If I am I ought to be spanked. I can't spank, but I can dance. If you don't head it off quick it goes to your liver. I'll head!"

With a swift movement Carmencita sprang across the room and from themantel took down a once beribboned but now faded and worn tambourine. "You'd rather cry, " she said, under her breath, "but you sha'n't cry. I won't let you. Dance! Dance! Dance!"

Aloft the tambourine was shaken, and its few remaining bells brokegaily on the air as with abandon that was bewildering in grace andsuppleness the child leaped into movement swift and light and amazingin beauty. Around the room, one arm akimbo, one hand now in the air, now touching with the tambourine the hard, bare floor, now tossingback the loose curls, now waving gaily overhead, faster and faster shedanced, her feet in perfect rhythm to the bells; then presently thetambourine was thrown upon the table, and she stopped beside it, faceflushed, eyes shining, and breath that came in quick, short gasps. 

"That was much better than crying. " She laughed. "There isn't much youcan do in this world, Carmencita, but you can dance. You've got to doit, too, every time you feel sorry for yourself. I wonder if I couldsee Miss Frances before I go for Father? I _must_ see her. Must! ThoseBeckwith babies have got the croup, and I want to ask her if shethinks it's awful piggy in me to put all my money, or 'most all, inFather's present. And I want to ask her--I could ask Miss Francesthings all night. Maybe the reason I'm not a thankful person is I'm soinquiring. I expect to spend the first hundred years after I get toheaven asking questions. "

Going over to the mantel, Carmencita looked at the little clock uponit. "I don't have to go to the wedding-place for father until aftersix, " she said, slowly, "and I'd like to see Miss Frances before I go. If I get there by half past five I can see the people get out of theirautomobiles and sail in. I wish I could sail somewhere. If I could seesome grandness once and get the smell of cabbage and onions out of mynose, which I never will as long as the Rheinhimers live underneathus, I wouldn't mind the other things so much, but there isn't anychance of grandness coming as high up in the air as this. I wonder ifGod has forgot about us! He has so many to remember--"

With a swift turn of her head, as if listening, Carmencita's eyes grewshy and wistful, then she dropped on her knees by the couch and buriedher face in her arms. "If God's forgot I'll remind Him, " she said, andtightly she closed her eyes. 

"O God"--the words came eagerly, fervently--"we are living in thesame place, and every day I hope we will get in a better one, butuntil we do please help me to keep on making Father think I like itbetter than any other in town. I thought maybe You had forgotten wherewe were. I'm too little to go to work yet, and that's why we're stillhere. We can't pay any more rent, or we'd move. And won't You pleaselet something nice happen? I don't mean miracles, or money, or thingslike that, but something thrilly and exciting and romantic, if You canmanage it. Every day is just the same sort of sameness, and I get somad-tired of cooking and cleaning and mending, before school and afterschool and nights, that if something don't happen soon I'm afraidFather will find out what a pretending person I am, and he mustn'tfind. It's been much better since I knew Miss Frances. I'm awful muchobliged to You for letting me know her, but she isn't permanent, Mother McNeil says, and may go away soon. I'm going to try to have agrand Christmas and be as nice as I can to Mrs. Rheinhimer, but she'sso lazy and dirty it's hard not to tell her so. And if You could let anice thing happen for Christmas I hope You will. If it could be amarriage and I could be bridesmaid I'd like that best, as I've neverbeen to an inside wedding, just outside on the street. I don't carefor poor marriages. Amen. "

On her feet, Carmencita hesitated, then, going to a closet across theroom, took from its top shelf a shabby straw hat and put it on. "Thiswas bought for me and fits, " she said, as if to some one by her side, "and, straw or no straw, it feels better than that Coachman Cattie, which is gone for evermore. Some day I hope I can burn you up, too"--she nodded to the coat into which she was struggling--"but Ican't do it yet. You're awful ugly and much too big, but you're warmand the only one I've got. I'll have half an hour before it's time togo for Father. If Miss Frances is home I can talk a lot in half anhour. "

CHAPTER II

Carmencita knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. After thethird knock she opened the door and, hand on the knob, looked in. 

"Oh, Miss Frances, I was afraid you had gone out! I knocked andknocked, but you didn't say come in, so I thought I'd look. Pleaseexcuse me!"

The girl at the sewing-machine, which was close to the window and farfrom the door, stopped its running, turned in her chair, and held outher hand. "Hello, Carmencita! I'm glad it's you and not Miss Perkins. I wouldn't want Miss Perkins to see me trying to sew, but you can see. Take off your coat. Is it cold out?"

"Getting cold. " The heavy coat was laid on one chair, and Carmencita, taking up a half-made gingham dress from another, sat in it and laidthe garment in her lap. "I didn't know you knew how to sew. "

"I don't. " The girl at the machine laughed. "Those Simcoe childrendidn't have a dress to change in, and I'm practising on some skirtsand waists for them. Every day I'm finding out something else I don'tknow how to do. I seem to have been taught a good many things there isno special need of knowing, and very few I can make use of down here. "

"You didn't expect to come down here when you were learning things, did you?" Carmencita's eyes were gravely watching the efforts beingmade to thread the machine's needle. "I guess when you were a littlegirl you didn't know there were things like you see down here. Whatmade you come here, Miss Frances? You didn't have to. What made youcome?"

Into the fine fair face color crept slowly, and for a moment a suddenfrown ridged the high forehead from which the dark hair, parted andbrushed back, waved into a loose knot at the back of her head; thenshe laughed, and her dark eyes looked into Carmencita's blue ones. 

"Why did I come?" The gingham dress on which she had been sewing wasfolded carefully. "I came to find out some of the things I did notknow about. I wasn't of any particular use to anybody else. No oneneeded me. I had a life on my hands that I didn't know what to dowith, and I thought perhaps--"

"You could use it down here? You could use a dozen down here, but youweren't meant not to get married. Aren't you ever going to getmarried, Miss Frances?"

"I hardly think I will. " Frances Barbour got up and pushed the machineagainst the wall. "The trouble about getting married is marrying theright man. One so often doesn't. I wouldn't like to make a mistake. "Again she smiled. 

"Don't see how you could make a mistake. Isn't there some way you cantell?"

"My dear Carmencita!" Stooping, the child's face was lifted andkissed. "I'm not a bit interested in men or marriage. They belongto--to a long, long time ago. I'm interested now in little girls likeyou, and in boys, and babies, and gingham dresses, and Christmastrees, and night classes, and the Dramatic School for the children whowork, and--"

"I'm interested in them, too, but I'm going to get married when I'mbig enough. I know you work awful hard down here, but it wasn't whatyou were born for. I'm always feeling, right inside me, righthere"--Carmencita's hand was laid on her breast--"that you aren'tgoing to stay here long, and it makes an awful sink sometimes. You'llgo away and forget us, and get married, and go to balls and partiesand wear satin slippers with buckles on them, and dance, and I'd doit, too, if I were you. Only--only I wish sometimes you hadn't come. It will be so much harder when you go away. "

"But I'm not going away. " At the little white bureau in the plainlyfurnished room of Mother McNeil's "Home, " Frances stuck the pinsbrought from the machine into the little cushion and nodded gaily tothe child now standing by her side. "I've tried the parties and ballsand--all the other things, and for a while they were very nice; andthen one day I found I was spending all my time getting ready for themand resting from them, and there was never time for anything else. IfI had died it would not have mattered the least bit that I had lived. And--"

"Didn't you have a sweetheart that it mattered to? Not even one?"

Into hers Carmencita's eyes were looking firmly, and, turning fromthem, Frances made effort to laugh; then her face whitened. 

"One can never be sure how much things matter to others, Carmencita. We can only be sure of how much they matter--to us. But it wasChristmas we were to talk about. It's much nicer to talk aboutChristmas. We can't talk very long, for I meet the 'Little Mothers' athalf past six, and after that I--"

"And I've got to go at half past five to meet Father when he's throughwith that wedding up-town, and then we're going shopping. I've got alot to talk about. The Beckwith babies are awful sick. I guess itwould be a good thing if they were to die. They are always havingcolic and cramps and croup, and they've got a coughing mother and alazy father; but they won't die. Some babies never will. Did you knowMr. Rheinhimer had been on another spree?" Carmencita, feet fastenedin the rounds of her chair, elbows on knees, and chin in the palms ofher hand, nodded affirmatively at the face in front of her. "Worst oneyet. He smashed all the window-panes in the bedroom, and broke twolegs of their best chairs doing it, and threw the basin and pitcherout of the window. He says he'd give any man living five hundreddollars, if he had it, if he'd live with his wife a month and notshake her. She is awful aggravating. She's always in curl papers, anddon't wear corsets, and nags him to death. She says she wishes you'dsend him to a cure or something. And I want to tell you about Father'spresent. "

For twenty minutes they talked long and earnestly. Carmencita's listof names and number of pennies were gone over again and again, andwhen at last she got up to go the perplexities of indecision andadjustment were mainly removed, and she sighed with satisfaction. 

"I'm very much obliged to you for helping me fix it. " The piece ofpaper was carefully pinned to the inside of the coat. "I'm not goingto get anything but Father's present to-night. I won't have to go toschool to-morrow, and I want the buying to last as long as possible. Isn't it funny the way Christmas makes you feel?"

Carmencita's hands came suddenly together, and, pressing them on herbreast, her eyes grew big and shining. Standing first on one foot andthen on the other, she swayed slightly forward, then gave a leap inthe air. 

"I can't help it, Miss Frances, I really can't! It's something insideme--something that makes me wish I was all the world's mother! AndI'm so squirmy and thrilly and shivery, thinking of the things I'd doif I could, that sometimes I'm bound to jump--just bound to! I'malmost sure something nice is going to happen. Did you ever feel thatway, Miss Frances?"

"I used to feel that way. " The clear dark eyes for a moment turnedfrom the eager ones of the child. "It's a very nice way to feel. Whenone is young--though perhaps it is not so much youth as hope in theheart, and love, and--"

"I don't love everybody. I loathe Miss Cattie Burns. She's the veryold dev--I promised Father I wouldn't say even a true mean thingabout anybody for a month, and I've done it twice! I'd much ratherlove people, though. I love to love! It makes you feel so nice andwarm and homey. If I had a house I'd have everybody I know--I mean allthe nice everybodies--to spend Christmas with me. Isn't it funny thatat Christmas something in you gets so lonely for--for--I don't knowwhat for, exactly, but it's something you don't mind so much nothaving at other times. "

Carmencita's arms opened to their full length, then circled slowly, and her hands crossed around her neck. "It's the time to wipe out andforget things, Father says. It's the home-time and the heart-timeand--" In her voice was sudden anxiety. "You are not going away forChristmas are you, Miss Frances?"

"Not for Christmas eve. " She hesitated. "I'm not quite sure what I'mgoing to do on Christmas day. My people live in different places andfar apart. It is all very different from what it used to be. When oneis alone--"

She stopped abruptly and, going over to the window, looked down on thestreet below; and Carmencita, watching, saw the face turned from herstwist in sudden pain. For a moment she stood puzzled and helpless. Something she did not understand was troubling, something in which shecould not help. What was it?

"You couldn't be alone at Christmas, Miss Frances. " Slowly she cametoward the window, and shyly her hand slipped into that of her friend. "There are too many wanting you. Father and I can't give fine presentsor have a fine dinner, but there wouldn't be words in which to tellyou how thankful we'd be if you'd spend it with us. Would you--wouldyou come to us, Miss Frances?"

Into the eager blue eyes looking up the dark eyes looked down, and, looking, grew misty. "Dear child, I'd come to you if I were here, butI do not think I'll be here. " Her head went up as if impatient withherself. "I'm going away on Christmas day--going--" She took out herwatch hurriedly and looked at it. "It's after half past five, Carmencita. You will have to hurry or you won't see the wedding guestsgo in. Good-by, dear. Have a good time and tuck away all you see totell me later. I will be so busy between now and Christmas, there willbe no time for talking, but after Christmas--Why, you've got on yourstraw hat, Carmencita! Where is the winter one Miss Cattie gave you?She told me she had given you a perfectly good hat that would last along time. "

"She did. " Carmencita's hands were stuck in the deep pockets of herlong coat, and again her big blue eyes were raised to her friend's. "It would have lasted for ever if it hadn't got burned up. It fell inthe fire and got burned up. " Out in the hall she hesitated, then cameback, opened the door, and put her head in. "It did get burned up, Miss Frances. I burned it. Good-by. "

Late into the night Frances Barbour sat at her desk in the bare andpoorly furnished room which she now called hers, and wrote letters, settled accounts, wrapped bundles, assorted packages, and made listsof matters to be attended to on the next day. When at last through, with the reaction that comes from overtired body and nerves she leanedback in her chair and let her hands fall idly in her lap, and witheyes that saw not looked across at the windows, on whose panes bits ofhail were tapping weirdly. For some minutes thought was held inabeyance; then suddenly she crossed her arms on the table, and herface was hidden in them. 

"Oh, Stephen! Stephen!" Under her breath the words came wearily. "Wewere so foolish, Stephen; such silly children to give each other up!All through the year I know, but never as I do at Christmas. Andwe--we are each other's, Stephen!" With a proud uplifting of her headshe got up. "I am a child, " she said, "a child who wants what it oncerefused to have. But until he understood--" Quickly she put out thelight. 

CHAPTER III

He was ashamed of himself for being ashamed. Why on earth should hehesitate to tell Peterkin he would dine alone on Christmas day? It wasnone of Peterkin's business how he dined, or where, or with whom. Andstill he had not brought himself to the point of informing Peterkin, by his order for dinner at home, that he was not leaving town for theholidays, that he was not invited to dine with any one else, and thatthere was no one he cared to invite to dine with him. It was the 22dof December, and the custodian in charge of his domestic arrangementshad not yet been told what his plans were for the 25th. He had noplans. 

He might go, of course, to one of his clubs. But worse than tellingPeterkin that he would dine alone would be the public avowal of havingnowhere to go which dining at the club would not only indicate, butaffirm. Besides, at Christmas a club was ghastly, and the few whodropped in had a half-shamed air at being there and got out as quicklyas possible. He could go to Hallsboro, but Hallsboro no longer boreeven a semblance to the little town in which he had been born--had, indeed, become something of a big city, bustling, busy, and new, andoffensively up-to-date; and nowhere else did he feel so much astranger as in the place he had once called home. He was but twelvewhen his parents moved away, and eight months later died within a weekof each other, and for years he had not been back. Had there beenbrothers and sisters--Well, there were no brothers and sisters, and bythis time he should be used to the fact that he was very much alone inthe world. 

Hands in his pockets, Stephen Van Landing leaned back in his chair andlooked across the room at a picture on the wall. He did not see thepicture; he saw, instead, certain things that were not pleasant tosee. No, he would not go to Hallsboro for Christmas. 

Turning off the light in his office and closing the door withunnecessary energy, Van Landing walked down the hall to the elevator, then turned away and toward the steps. Reaching the street, hehesitated as to the car he should take, whether one up-town to hisclub or one across to his apartment, and as he waited he watched thehurrying crowd with eyes in which were baffled impatience andperplexity. It was incomprehensible, the shopping craze at this seasonof the year. He wished there was no such season. Save for his veryyoung childhood there were few happy memories connected with it, butonly of late, only during the past few years, had the recurrenceawakened within him a sort of horror, its approach a sense ofloneliness that was demoralizing, and its celebration an emptiness inlife that chilled and depressed beyond all reason. Why was it that asit drew near a feeling of cowardice so possessed him that he wanted togo away, go anywhere and hide until it was over, go where he could notsee what it meant to others? It was humanity's home-time, and he hadno home. Why--

"An ass that brays is wiser than the man who asks what can't beanswered, " he said, under his breath. "For the love of Heaven, quitit! Why-ing in a man is as inexcusable as whining in a woman. There'smy car--crowded, of course!"

For some minutes longer he waited for a car on which there was chanceto get a foothold, then, buttoning his overcoat, put his hands in hispockets and began the walk to his club. The season had been mild sofar, but a change was coming, and the two days left for Christmasshopping would doubtless be stormy ones. On the whole, it might befortunate. There was a good deal of nonsense in this curious custom ofonce a year getting on a giving jag, which was about what Christmashad degenerated into, and if something could prevent the dementia thatpossessed many people at this season it should be welcomed. It hadoften puzzled him, the behavior of the human family at this so-calledChristian holiday in which tired people were overworked, poor peoplebought what they couldn't afford, and the rich gave unneeded things tothe rich and were given unwanted ones in return. The hands of allpeople--all places--had become outstretched. It wasn't the giving ofmoney that mattered. But what did matter was the hugeness of the habitwhich was commercializing a custom whose origin was very far removedfrom the spirit of the day. 

With a shrug of his shoulders he shoved his hands deeper down intohis pockets. "Quit again, " he said, half aloud. "What do you know ofthe spirit of the day?"

Not only of the spirit of the day did he know little, but of late withacute conviction it was dawning on him that he knew little of manyother things. Certainly he was getting little out of life. For awhile, after professional recognition had come to him, and with itfinancial reward, he had tested society, only to give it up and settledown to still harder work during the day and his books when the daywas done. The only woman he had ever wanted to marry had refused tomarry him. His teeth came down on his lips. He still wanted her. Inall the world there was but one woman he loved or could love, and forthree years he had not seen her. It was his fault. He was to blame. Ithad taken him long to see it, but he saw it now. There had been adifference of opinion, a frank revealing of opposing points of view, and he had been told that she would not surrender her life to theselfishness that takes no part in activities beyond the interests ofher own home. He had insisted that when a woman marries said home andhusband should alone claim her time and heart, and in the multitudeof demands which go into the cultural and practical development of ahome out of a house there would be sufficient opportunity for theexercise of a woman's brain and ability. He had been such a fool. Whatright had he to limit her, or she him? It had all been so silly andsuch a waste, such a horrible waste of happiness. 

For she had loved him. She was not a woman to love lightly, as he wasnot a man, and hers was the love that glorifies life. And he had lostit. That is, he had lost her. Three years ago she had broken theirengagement. Two years of this time had been spent abroad. A few monthsafter their return her mother died and her home was given up. Much ofthe time since her mother's death had been spent with her marriedsisters, who lived in cities far separated from one another, but notfor some weeks had he heard anything concerning her. He did not evenknow where she was, or where she would be Christmas. 

"Hello, Van!"

The voice behind made him turn. The voice was Bleeker McVeigh's. 

"Where are the wedding garments? Don't mean you're not going!"

"Going where?" Van Landing fell into step. "Whose wedding?"

McVeigh lighted a fresh cigarette. "You ought to be hung. I tell younow you won't be bidden to my wedding. Why did you tell Jockie you'dcome, if you didn't intend to?"

Van Landing stopped and for a minute stared at the man beside him. "Iforgot this was the twenty-second, " he said. "Tell Jock I'm dead. Iwish I were for a week. "

"Ought to be dead. " McVeigh threw his match away. "A man who ignoreshis fellow-beings as you've ignored yours of late has no right tolive. Better look out. Don't take long to be forgotten. Good night. "

It was true that it didn't take long to be forgotten. He had beenfinding that out rather dismally of late, finding out also that a goodmany things Frances had told him about himself were true. Her eyescould be so soft and lovely and appealing; they were wonderful eyes, but they could blaze as well. And she was right. He was selfish andconventional and intolerant. That is, he had been. He wished he couldforget her eyes. In all ways possible to a man of his type he hadtried to forget, but forgetting was beyond his power. Jock had lovedhalf a dozen women and this afternoon he was to be married to his lastlove. Were he on Jock's order he might have married. He wasn't onJock's order. 

Reaching his club, he started to go up the steps, then turned andwalked away. To go in would provoke inquiry as to why he was not atthe wedding. He took out his watch. It was twenty minutes of the hourset for the ceremony. He had intended to go, but--Well, he hadforgotten, and was glad of it. He loathed weddings. 

As he reached the building in which was his apartment he againhesitated and again walked on. An unaccountable impulse led him in thedirection of the house, a few blocks away, in which his friend was tobe married, and as he neared it he crossed the street and in thedarkness of the late afternoon looked with eyes, half mocking, halfamazed, at the long line of limousines which stretched from one end ofthe block to the other. At the corner he stopped. For some minutes hestood looking at the little group of people who made effort to presscloser to the entrance of the awning which stretched from door tocurbing, then turned to go, when he felt a hand touch him lightly onthe arm. 

"If you will come up to the top of the steps you can see much better, "he heard a voice say. "I've seen almost everybody go in. I just randown to tell you. "

CHAPTER IV

Turning, Van Landing looked into the little face upraised to his, thenlifted his hat. She was so enveloped in the big coat which came to herheels that for half a moment he could not tell whether she was ten ortwenty. Then he smiled. 

"Thank you, " he said. "I don't know that I care to see. I don't knowwhy I stopped. "

"Oh, but it is perfectly grand, seeing them is! You can see everythingup there"--a little bare hand was waved behind her in the direction ofthe porch--"and nothing down here. And you looked like you wanted tosee. There have been kings and queens, and princes and princesses, anddukes and duchesses, and sirs, and--" She looked up. "What's the ladyname for sir? 'Tisn't siress, is it?"

"I believe not. " Van Landing laughed. "I didn't know there was so muchroyalty in town. " "There is. They are royals--that kind of people. "Her hand pointed in the direction of the house from which could beheard faint strains of music. "They live in palaces, and wave wands, and eat out of gold plates, and wear silk stockings in the morning, and--oh, they do everything that's splendid and grand and magnificentand--"

"Do you think people are splendid and grand and magnificent becausethey live in palaces and wear--"

"Goodness gracious!" The big blue eyes surveyed the speaker withuncertainty. "Are you one of them, too?"

"One what?"

"Damanarkists. Mr. Leimberg is one. He hates people who live inpalaces and wave wands and have _dee_-licious things to eat. He don'tbelieve in it. Mr. Ripple says it's because he's a damanarkist andvery dangerous. Mr. Leimberg thinks men like Mr. Ripple ought to betarred and feathered. He says he'd take the very last cent a personhad and give it to blood-suckers like that"--and again the red littlehand was waved toward the opposite side of the street. "Mr. Ripplecollects our rent. I guess it does take a lot of money to live in apalace, but I'd live in one if I could, though I'd try not to be veryparticular about rents and things. And I'd have chicken-pie for dinnerevery day and hot oysters for supper every night; and I'd ask somelittle girls sometimes to come and see me--that is, I think I would. But maybe I wouldn't. It's right easy to forget in a palace, I guess. Oh, look--there's somebody else going in! Hurry, mister, or you won'tsee!"

Following the child up the flight of stone steps, Van Landing stood atthe top and looked across at the arriving cars, whose occupants wereimmediately lost to sight in the tunnel, as his new acquaintancecalled it, and then he looked at her. 

Very blue and big and wonder-filled were her eyes, and, tense in theeffort to gain the last glimpse of the gorgeously gowned guests, shestood on tiptoe, leaning forward eagerly, and suddenly Van Landingpicked her up and put her on top of the railing. Holding on to hiscoat, the child laughed gaily. 

"Aren't we having a good time?" Her breath was drawn in joyously. "It's almost as good as being inside. Wouldn't you like to be? Iwould. I guess the bride is beautiful, with real diamonds on herslippers and in her hair, and--" She looked down on Van Landing. "Myfather is in there. He goes to 'most all the scrimptious weddings thathave harps to them. He plays on the harp when the minister is sayingthe words. Do you think it is going to be a very long wedding?"

A note of anxiety in the child's voice made Van Landing look at hermore closely, and as she raised her eyes to his something stirredwithin him curiously. What an old little face it was! All glow andeagerness, but much too thin and not half enough color, and the hatover the loose brown curls was straw. 

"I don't think it will be long. " His voice was cheerfully decisive. "That kind is usually soon over. Most of a wedding's time is taken ingetting ready for it. Did you say your father was over there?"

The child's head nodded. "They have a harp, so I know they are nicepeople. Father can't give lessons any more, because he can't see butjust a teensy, weensy bit when the sun is shining. He used to play ona big organ, and we used to have oysters almost any time, but that wasbefore Mother died. Father was awful sick after she died, and therewasn't any money, and when he got well he was almost blind, and hecan't teach any more, and 'most all he does now is weddings andfunerals. I love him to go to weddings. He makes the others tell himeverything they see, and then he tells me, and we have the grandesttime making out we were sure enough invited, and talking of what wethought was the best thing to eat, and whose dress was the prettiest, and which lady was the loveliest--Oh, my goodness! Look there!"

Already some of the guests were departing; and Van Landing, looking athis watch, saw it was twenty minutes past six. Obviously among thosepresent were some who failed to feel the enthusiasm for weddings thathis new friend felt. With a smile he put the watch away, and, placingthe child's feet more firmly on the railing, held her so that shecould rest against his shoulder. She could hardly be more than twelveor thirteen, and undersized for that, but the oval face was one ofsingular intelligence, and her eyes--her eyes were strangely like theonly eyes on earth he had ever loved, and as she settled herself morecomfortably his heart warmed curiously, warmed as it had not done foryears. Presently she looked down at him. 

"I don't think you're a damanarkist. " Her voice was joyous. "You'reso nice. Can you see good?"

"Very good. There isn't much to see. One might if it weren't forthat--"

"Old tunnel! I don't think they ought to have them if it isn't snowingor raining. Oh, I do hope Father can come out soon! If I tell yousomething will you promise not to tell, not even say it to yourselfout loud?" Her face was raised to his. "I'm going to get Father'sChristmas present to-night. We're going down-town when he is throughover there. He can't see me buy it, and it's something he wantsdreadfully. I've been saving ever since last Christmas. It's going tocost two dollars and seventy-five cents. " The eager voice trailed offinto an awed whisper. "That's an awful lot to spend on somethingyou're not bound to have, but Christmas isn't like any other time. Ispend millions in my mind at Christmas. Have you bought all yourthings, Mr. --Mr. --don't even know your name. " She laughed. "What'syour name, Mr. Man?"

Van Landing hesitated. Caution and reserve were inherentcharacteristics. Before the child's eyes they faded. 

"Van Landing, " he said. "Stephen Van Landing. "

"Mine is Carmencita. Father named me that because when I was a teensybaby I kicked my feet so, and loved my tambourine best of all mythings. Have you bought all your Christmas gifts, Mr. Van--I don'tremember the other part. "

"I haven't any to buy--and no one to buy for. That is--"

"Good gracious!" The child turned quickly; in her eyes and voiceincredulity was unrestrained. "I didn't know there was anybody in allthe world who didn't have anybody to buy for! Are you--are you verypoor, Mr. Van? You look very nice. "

"I think I must be very poor. " Van Landing fastened his glasses moresecurely on his nose. "I'm quite sure of it. It has been long since Icared to buy Christmas presents. I give a few, of course, but--"

"And don't you have Christmas dinner at home, and hang up yourstocking, and buy toys and things for children, and hear the music inthe churches? I know a lot of carols. Father taught me. I'll sing onefor you. Want me? Oh, I believe they are coming out! Father said theywouldn't want him as long as the others. If I lived in a palace andwas a royal lady I'd have a harp longer than anything else, but Fathersays it's on account of the food. Food is awful high, and people wouldrather eat than hear harps. Oh, there's Father! I must go, Mr. Van. Thank you ever so much for holding me. "

With a movement that was scientific in its dexterity the child slippedfrom Van Landing's arms and jumped from the railing to the porch, andwithout so much as a turn of the head ran down the steps and acrossthe street. Darting in between two large motor-cars, Van Landing sawher run forward and take the hand of a man who was standing near theside-entrance of the house in which the wedding had taken place. Itwas too dark to distinguish his face, and in the confusion followingthe calling of numbers and the hurrying off of guests he feltinstinctively that the man shrank back, as is the way of the blind, and an impulse to go over and lead him away made him start down thesteps. 

At the foot he stopped. To go over was impossible. He would berecognized. For half a moment he hesitated. It was his dinner hour, and he should go home; but he didn't want to go home. The stillnessand orderliness of his handsome apartment was suddenly irritating. Itseemed a piece of mechanism made to go so smoothly and noiselesslythat every element of humanness was lacking in it; and with somethingof a shiver he turned down the street and in the direction opposite tothat wherein he lived. The child's eyes had stirred memories that mustbe kept down; and she was right. He was a poor man. He had a house, but no home, and he had no Christmas presents to buy. 

CHAPTER V

"Mr. Van! Mr. Van!"

He turned quickly. Behind, his new-made acquaintance was making effortto run, but to run and still hold the hand of her father wasdifficult. With a smile he stopped. 

"Oh, Mr. Van!" The words came breathlessly. "I was so afraid we wouldlose you! Father can't cross quick, and once I couldn't see you. Herehe is, Father. " She took Van Landing's hand and laid it in herfather's. "He can tell by hands, " she said, "whether you're a niceperson or not. I told him you didn't have anybody, and--"

Van Landing's hand for a moment lay in the stranger's, then he shookthe latter's warmly and again raised his hat. In the circle of lightcaused by the electric lamp near which they stood the blind man's facecould be seen distinctly, and in it was that one sees but rarely inthe faces of men, and in Van Landing's throat came sudden tightening. 

"Oh, sir, I cannot make her understand, cannot keep her from talkingto strangers!" The troubled voice was of a strange quality for soshabbily clothed a body, and in the eyes that saw not, and which werelifted to Van Landing's, was sudden terror. "She believes all peopleto be her friends. I cannot always be with her, and some day--"

"But, Father, you said that whoever didn't have any friends must beour friend, because--because that's all we can be--just friends. Andhe hasn't any. I mean anybody to make Christmas for. He said sohimself. And can't he go with us to-night and see the shops? I knowhe's nice, Father. Please, please let him!"

The look of terrified helplessness which for a moment swept over thegentle face, wherein suffering and sorrow had made deep impress, butin which was neither bitterness nor complaint, stirred the heartwithin him as not for long it had been stirred, and quickly VanLanding spoke. 

"It may not be a good plan generally, but this time it was all right, "he said. "She spoke to me because she thought I could not see whatwas going on across the street, and very kindly shared her betterposition with me. I--" He hesitated. His name would mean nothing tothe man before him. Their worlds were very different worlds. It waspossible, however, that this gentle, shrinking creature, with a faceso spiritualized by life's denials that it shamed him as he looked, knew more of his, Van Landing's, world than he of the blind man's, andsuddenly, as if something outside himself directed, he yielded to astrange impulse. 

It was true, what the child had said. He had few friends--that is, friends in the sense the child meant. Of acquaintances he had many, very many. At his club, in business, in a rather limited social set, he knew a number of people well, but friends--If he were to dieto-morrow his going would occasion but the usual comment he had oftenheard concerning others. Some years ago he had found himselfcontinually entertaining what he called his friends, spending foolishsums of money on costly dinners, and quite suddenly he had quit. Aslong as he entertained he was entertained in return, and for some timeafter he stopped he still received invitations of many sorts, but incynical realization of the unsatisfactoriness of his manner of lifehe had given it up, and in its place had come nothing to answer thehunger of his heart for comradeship and human cheer. His opinion oflife had become unhealthy. As an experience for which one is notprimarily responsible it had to be endured, but out of it he hadgotten little save what men called success; and that, he had longsince found, though sweet in the pursuit, was bitter in achievement ifthere was no one who cared--and for his nobody really cared. Thisblind man with the shabby clothes and ill-nourished body was richerthan he. He had a child who loved him and whom he loved. 

"It is true what your little girl has told you. " Van Landing took offhis glasses and wiped them. "I have no one to make Christmas for, andif you don't mind I wish you would let me go with you to the shopsto-night. I don't know much about Christmas buying. My presents arechiefly given in mon----I mean I don't know any little children. "

"And I know forty billion!" Carmencita's arms were outstretched andher hands came together with ecstatic emphasis. "If I didn't stop toblink my eyes between now and Christmas morning I couldn't buy fastenough to fill all the stockings of the legs I know if I had the moneyto buy with. There's Mrs. McTarrens's four, and the six Blickers, andthe ashman's eight, and the Roysters, and little Sallie Simcoe, andold Mr. Jenkinson, and Miss Becky who mends pants and hasn't any frontteeth, and Mr. Leimberg. I'd get him specs. He has to hold his booklike this"--and the palms of two little red hands were held close toCarmencita's eyes. "Oh, Father, please let him go!"

Hesitating, the blind man's eyes were again upturned, and again VanLanding spoke. 

"You are right to be careful; but you need not fear. My name is VanLanding, and my office--"

"You are a gentleman!" Two hands with their long slender fingers wereoutstretched, and swiftly they stroked Van Landing's arms and body andface. "Your voice, your hands, tell me your class, and your clothesthat you have money. Why--oh, why do you want to go with us?" Quicklyhis right hand drew his child toward him, and in terror he pressed herto his side. "She is my all, my light, my life! Away from her I am indarkness you could not understand. No, you must not go with us. Youmust go away and leave us!"

For a moment Van Landing hesitated, puzzled by the sudden fear in theman's face, then over his own crept grayness, and the muscles in itstiffened. 

"My God!" he said, and his mouth grew dry. "Have men brought men tothis?"

For another half-moment there was silence which the child, lookingfrom one to the other, could not understand, and her hands, pressedclose to her breast, gripped tightly her cold fingers. Presently VanLanding turned. 

"Very well, " he said. "I will go. It was just that I know little of areal Christmas. Good night. "

"Oh, don't go--don't go, Mr. Van! It's going to be Christmas two daysafter to-morrow, Father, and the Christ-child wouldn't like it if youlet him go!" Carmencita held the sleeve of Van Landing's coat with asturdy clutch. "He isn't a damanarkist. I can tell by his eyes. Theyare so lonely-looking. You aren't telling a story, are you Mr. Van? Isit truly truth that you haven't anybody?"

"It is truly truth, " he said. "I mean anybody to make Christmas for. "

"No mother or father or a little girl like me? Haven't you even got awife?"

"Not even a wife. " Van Landing smiled. 

"You are as bad as Miss Barbour. She hasn't anybody, either, now, shesays, 'most everybody being--"

"Miss who?" Van Landing turned so sharply that the child jumped. "Whodid you say?"

"Miss Barbour. " The eyes which were so like those he could not forgetwere raised to his. "If you knew Miss Barbour she could tell you ofplenty of people to make Christmas for. She's living right now withMother McNeil, who isn't really anybody's mother, but justeverybody's. But she don't live there all the time. Most of her peopleare dead or married and don't need her, so she came to Mother McNeilto see how children down there live. What's the matter, Mr. Van?"

To hide the upleaping flame in his face and the sudden trembling ofhis hands Van Landing stooped down and picked up the handkerchief hehad dropped; then he stepped back and out of the circle of light inwhich he had been standing. For a moment he did not speak lest hisvoice be as unsteady as his hands, but, taking out his watch, helooked at it, then put it back with fumbling fingers. 

"Her first name--Miss Barbour's first name, " he said, and the drynessof his throat made his words a little indistinct. "What is it?"

With mouth rounded into a little ball, Carmencita blew on her stifffinger-tips. "Frances, " she said, and first one foot and then theother was stamped for purpose of warmth. "The damanarkist says Godmade her, but the devil has more to do with most women than anybodyelse. He don't like women. Do you know her, Mr. Van?"

"If your friend is my friend--I know her very well, " he said, and puthis hands in his pockets to hide the twitching of his fingers. "A longtime ago she was the only real friend I had, and I lost her. I havewanted very much to find her. "

"Oh, Father, if he knows Miss Barbour he's bound to be all right!"Carmencita's arms were flung above her head and down again, and on hertiptoes she danced gaily round and round. "We can show him where shelives. " She stopped. "No, we can't. She told me I must never do that. I mustn't send any one to her, but I could tell her of anybody Iwanted her to know about. " Head uplifted, her eyes searched VanLanding's, and her words came in an awed whisper, "Was--was she yoursweetheart, Mr. Van?"

"She was. " Again Van Landing wiped his forehead. It didn't in theleast matter that he was telling to this unknown child the mostpersonal of matters. Nothing mattered but that perhaps he might findFrances. "You must take me to her, " he said. "I must see herto-night. "

"I can't take you to see her to-night. She wouldn't like it. Oh, Iknow!" Carmencita made another rapid whirl. "We can go down-town andget"--she nodded confidentially to her new-made friend and pointed herfinger in her father's direction--"and then we can come back and havesome toast and tea; and then I'll send for Miss Barbour to come quick, as I need her awful, and when she comes in you can say: 'Oh, my lostand loved one, here I am! We will be married right away, this minute!'I read that in a book once. Won't it be grand? But you won't--" Thedancing ceased, and her hands stiffened in sudden anxiety. "You won'ttake her away, will you?"

"If she will come with me I will not take her where she won't comeback. Can't we start?"

But the child was obdurate. She would do nothing until her purchasewas made, and to her entreaties her father finally yielded, and a fewminutes later Van Landing and his new acquaintances were on adown-town car, bound for a shopping district as unknown to him as theshops in which he was accustomed to deal were unknown to them. 

Still a bit dazed by his chance discovery, he made no comment on thechild's continual chatter, but let her exuberance and delight havefull play while he tried to adjust himself to a realization that madeall thought but a chaotic mixture of hope and doubt, of turbulent fearand determined purpose, and of one thing only was he sure. Three yearsof his life had been wasted. Another hour should not be lost were itin his power to prevent. 

CHAPTER VI

When the store was reached Van Landing for the first time was able tosee distinctly the faces of Carmencita and her father, and as for amoment he watched the slim little body in its long coat, once theproperty, undoubtedly, of a much bigger person, saw her eager, wonder-filled eyes, and the wistful mouth which had learned to smileat surrender, the strings of his heart twisted in protest, and for the"damanarkist" of whom she had spoken, for the moment he had sympathyof which on yesterday there would have been no understanding. Shecould not be more than twelve or thirteen, he thought, but conditionand circumstance had made her a woman in many matters, and the art ofshopping she knew well. Slowly, very slowly, she made her way to theparticular counter at which her precious purchase was to be made, lingering here and there to gaze at things as much beyond her hope ofpossession as the stars of heaven; and, following her slow-walking, Van Landing could see her eyes brighten and yearn, her lips move, herhand outstretch to touch and then draw back quickly, and also everynow and then he could see her shake her head. 

"What is it?" he asked. "Why do you do that? Is there anything in hereyou would like to get, besides the thing you came for?"

"Anything I'd like to get!" The words were repeated as if not heardaright. "Anybody would know you'd never been a girl. There isn't muchin here I wouldn't like to get if I didn't have to pay for it. "

"But not rattles and dolls and drums and pop-guns and boxing-glovesand all the other things you've looked at. Girls of your age--"

"This girl wasn't looking at them for herself. I'm 'most grown up now. But everybody on our street has got a baby, and a lot of childrenbesides. Mrs. Perry has twins and a baby, and Mrs. Latimer always hastwo on a bottle at the same time. I'm just buying things in my mind. It's the only way I can buy 'em, and Christmas wouldn't be Christmasif you couldn't buy some way. Sallie Simcoe will go crazy if she don'tget a doll that whistles. She saw one in a window once. It was aWhistling Jim and cost a dollar. She won't get it. Oh, here it is, Mr. Van! Here's the counter where the jewelry things are. "

As she neared it she nodded to Van Landing and pointed to her father, who, hand on her shoulder, had kept close to her, then beckoned him tocome nearer. "He can't see, I know"--her voice was excited--"but takehim away, won't you? I wouldn't have him guess it, not for _anything_on earth! I'll be through in a minute. "

In moments incredibly few, but to Van Landing tormentingly long, shewas back again, and close to her heart she was hugging a tiny packagewith one hand, while the other was laid on her father's arm. "I gotit, " she whispered; "it's perfectly beautiful. " She spoke louder. "Iguess we'd better be going now. I know you're hungry, and so am I. Come on. We can walk home, and then I'll make the tea. "

For a second Van Landing hesitated, then he followed the odd-lookingcouple out into the street, but as they started to turn the corner hestopped. 

"I say"--he cleared his throat to hide its embarrassedhesitation--"don't you want to do me a favor? Where I live I don'tbuy the things I eat, and I've often thought I'd like to. If you aregoing to make the tea and toast, why can't I get the--the chicken, say, and some salad and things? That's a good-looking window overthere with cooked stuff in it. We'll have a party and each put insomething. "

"Chicken?" Into his face the child gazed with pitying comprehension ofhis ignorance, and in her voice was shrill amusement. "_Chicken!_ Didyou ever price one? I have, when I'm having kings and queens takingdinner with me in my mind. People don't have chicken 'cept atChristmas, and sometimes Sundays if there hasn't been anybody out ofwork for a long time. Come on. I've got a box of sardines. Just think, Father, he wants to buy a _chicken_!"

With a gay little laugh in which was shrewd knowledge of theunthinkableness of certain indulgences, the child slipped one armthrough her father's and another through Van Landing's, and with ahappy skip led the way down the poorly lighted street. A solid mass ofdreary-looking houses, with fronts unrelieved by a distinguishingfeature, stretched as far as the eye could see, and when a few blockshad been walked it was with a sense of relief that a corner wasturned and Van Landing found himself at the foot of a flight of stepsup which the child bounded and beckoned him to follow. 

The house was like the others, one of a long row, and dull and darkand dingy, but from its basement came a baby's wailing, while from thefloor above, as the hall was entered, could be heard the rapid clickof a sewing-machine. Four flights of steps were mounted; thenCarmencita took the key from her father's pocket and opened the door. 

"This is our suite, " she said, and courtesied low. "Please strike amatch, if you have one, Mr. Van. This house is very old, and historyhouses don't have electric lights. The ghosts wouldn't like it. Someof my best friends are ghosts. I'll be back in a minute. "

As she ran into the little hall room adjoining the large room which hesaw comprised their "suite, " Van Landing lighted the lamp near themantel and looked around. In the center was a marble-topped table, andon it a lamp, a work-basket, and several magazines with backs halfgone. The floor was bare save for a small and worn rug here and there, and on the sills of the uncurtained windows two hardy geraniums wereblooming bravely. A chest of drawers, a few chairs, a shelf of books, a rug-covered cot, a corner cupboard, a wash-stand behind a screen, and a small table near the stove, behind which a box of wood could beseen, completed its furnishings; and still, despite its bareness, there was something in it which was not in the place wherein he lived, and wonderingly he again looked around. Had he found himself in themoon or at the bottom of the Dead Sea it would be hardly lessremarkable than finding himself here. Adventures of this sort wereentirely out of his experience. As regulated as a piece of machineryhis life had become of late, and the routine of office and club andhouse had been accepted as beyond escape, and the chance meeting ofthis little creature--

"Oh, my goodness! I forgot to put the kettle on!"

With a spring that came apparently from the door opposite the stovenear which he was standing Carmencita was by his side, and, swiftmovement following swift movement, the lid of the stove was lifted, wood put in, the kettle of water put on, and the table drawn fartherout in the floor. A moment more the lamp was lighted, her father'scoat and hat in place, his chair drawn up to the now roaring fire;then, with speculation in her eyes, she stood for half a moment, handson hips, looking first at Van Landing and then at the cupboard in thecorner. 

For the first time he saw well the slender little body out of itslong, loose coat, the heavy, brown curls which tumbled over the ovalface, the clear eyes that little escaped, so keen was their quality, and the thin legs with their small feet in large shoes, and as helooked he smiled. 

"Well, " he asked, "can I help you? You seem very uncertain. "

"I am. Put your hat and coat over there"--she pointed to the coveredcot close to the wall--"then come back and tell me. "

He did as directed and, hands in pockets, stood again in front of her. "Is"--his face whitened--"is it about Miss Barbour? Can you send herword?"

"Send now? I guess not!" On tiptoes the child looked for something onthe mantel-piece. "We haven't had supper yet, and I'm so hungry Icould eat air. Besides, she has a class to-night--The Little BigSisters. I'm one when I can go, but I can't go often. " She waved herhand in the direction of her father. "I'll send for her 'bout halfpast nine. Which do you like best, sardines with lemon on 'em, ortoasted cheese on toast with syrup afterward? Which?"

The tone was one of momentous inquiry. Miss Barbour's coming was amatter that could wait, but supper necessitated a solemn decisionwhich must be made at once. Hands clasped behind her, the blue eyesgrew big with suspense, and again she repeated, "Which?"

"I really don't know. Both are very good. I believe I like sardinesbetter than--Oh no, I don't. " He had caught the flicker ofdisappointment in the anxious little face. "I mean I think toastedcheese the best thing to eat that's going. Let's have that!"

"All right. " With another spring the child was at the cupboard, andswiftly she went to work. "Read to father, won't you?" she called, without looking round. "In that magazine with the geranium leafsticking out is where I left off. You'll have to read right loud. "

Drawing his chair close to the lighted lamp, Van Landing took his seatnear the blind musician, and for the first time noticed the slender, finely formed fingers of the hands now resting on the arms of thechair in which he sat; noticed the shiny, well-worn coat and the lockof white hair that fell across the high forehead; saw the sensitivemouth; and as he looked he wondered as to the story that was his. Anold one, perhaps. Born of better blood than his present positionimplied, he had evidently found the battle of life more than he wasequal to, and, unfit to fight, he had doubtless slipped down and downin the scale of human society until to-day he and his child weredwellers on the borderland of the slums. 

He found the article and began to read. The technicalities of musicalcomposition had never appealed to him, but, though by him the writer'sexhaustive knowledge of his subject was not appreciated, by hislistener it was greatly so, and, in tense eagerness to miss no word, the latter leaned forward and kept his sightless eyes in the directionof the sound of his voice. 

Not for long could he read, however. In a few moments Carmencita'shands were outstretched, and, giving one to each, she led them to thetable, and at it he sat down as naturally as though it were a familiaroccurrence. In the center was a glass jar with a spray of red geraniumin it, and behind the earthen tea-pot the child presided with theease of long usage. As she gave him his tea he noticed it was in theonly unchipped cup, and on the one kept for herself there was nohandle. Under his breath he swore softly. Why--He mentally shookhimself. This was no time for why-ing. 

[Illustration: "WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST, SARDINES WITH LEMON ON 'EM, ORTOASTED CHEESE ON TOAST?"]

As an appetizer the toasted cheese on toasted bread was excellent, butthe supper--if she had only let him get it. He had not dared insist, and never had he been more consciously a guest, but could people liveon fare so scant as this? It was like Frances to want to know howother people lived--and not to be content with knowing. But after sheknew how could she sleep at night? Great God! If there was to be a dayof judgment what could men say--men like himself and his friends?

CHAPTER VII

For half an hour longer Carmencita chatted gaily, offering dish afterdish of imaginary food with the assurance that it would cause nosickness or discomfort, and at the child's spirit and imagination VanLanding marveled. The years of ignorance and indifference, in which hehad not cared to know what Frances knew all men should know, came backdisquietingly, and he wondered if for him it were too late. 

As Carmencita got up to clear the table he took out his watch andlooked at it, then put it quickly back lest she should see. Who wasgoing to take the note? Why couldn't he go to the place at which washeld the class of Little Big Sisters and get Frances? With a quickindrawing breath he handed his host cigars. 

"I hope you smoke, " he said; "that is, if Carmencita does not object. "

"Oh, I don't object. Smoke!" Carmencita's hand was waved. "After Iwash the dishes I'll write the note, then I'll go down and get Noodlesto take it. I'll ask Mr. Robinsky to bring the harp up, Father. Hebrought it home for us; he's a flute-er. " The explanation was made toVan Landing. "He always brings it home when Father and I are goingsomewhere else. Smoke, please. I love to smell smoke smell. "

With a splash the remaining water in the tea-kettle was poured in thedish-pan, and for a few moments the clatter of knives and forks andspoons prevented talk. Over the blind man's face crept the contentthat comes from a good cigar, and in silence he and his guest smokedwhile Carmencita did her work. Not long was there silence, however, for very shortly the child was on a stool at Van Landing's feet, inher hands a pad of paper, and on her knee a backless magazine. 

For half a minute she looked in Van Landing's face. "Isn't it nice andfunny--your being here? I like you. " Her voice was joyous. "If I tellyou something, you won't tell?" She leaned forward, hands on hisknees. "This afternoon before I went out I asked God please to letsomething nice happen. There hasn't anything very nice happened for solong, I was afraid He had forgot. What must I write, Mr. Van?"

Into Van Landing's face the color surged, then died away and left itstrangely white. The child's eyes were holding his, and he did not tryto avoid them. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was toget Frances quickly. 

"Tell her I must see her to-night, that I must come to her. Why can'tI go to her, Carmencita?"

"Because she doesn't want anybody to come to see her that she doesn'ttell to come. She told me so herself, and I wouldn't break her rulesfor a gold ring with a ruby in it. I know. I'll tell her I'm bound toshow her something to-night or I won't sleep a wink. And you'll be_It_! You can go in Father's room, and when she comes in you will comeout and say--What will you say, Mr. Van?"

"I don't know. Perhaps I sha'n't say anything. Sometimes one can't. "

"I'll look in that book I read once and see what he said, if you wantme to. It was a beautiful book. It had an awful lot of love in it. Iknow what I'm going to write. "

For some moments she wrote laboriously on the pad, which wabbledbadly on her knees, then she folded the piece of paper and, gettingup, went toward the door. Van Landing followed her. 

"The boy, " he said. "Will you give him this and tell him if the noteis delivered to Miss Barbour personally there will be more when hecomes back?" He held out his hand. 

As if not seeing aright, Carmencita looked closely at what was heldtoward her, then up in Van Landing's face. "You must have plenty ofmoney, if you haven't any friends, " she said, and in her voice wasfaint suspicion. "Noodles can't have that. He'd never go anywhere forme again if he got that much. " Her hand waved his away. "When he comesback, if you'll give him a quarter he'll stand on his head. It's hardand hollow, and he makes right smart standing on it and wriggling hisfeet. " She shook her head. "It would ruin him to give him a dollar. Please read to Father. "

Her visitor's face flushed. Why couldn't he remember? "Very well, " hesaid; "manage it your way. Tell him to hurry, will you?'"

Would she come? With his lips Stephen Van Landing was pronouncing thewords of the article he had again begun to read to the blind harpist, but in his heart, which was beating thickly, other words were surging, and every now and then he wiped his forehead lest its dampness be seenby the child's keen eyes. Would she come? Three years had passed sincesenseless selfishness on his part had made her spirit flare and shehad given him back his ring. For a moment he had held it, and in thedancing flames of the logs upon the hearth in the library of herbeautiful old-fashioned home its stones had gleamed brilliantly, flashed protesting fire; then he had dropped it in the blaze andturned and left the room. Had she forgotten, or had she suffered, too?

With mechanical monotony the words continued to come from his lips, but his thoughts were afar off, and presently Carmencita took themagazine out of his hand. 

"Excuse me, " she said, "but Father is asleep, and you don't know aword you're saying. You might as well stop. "

Putting the magazine on the table, Carmencita drew the stool on whichshe was sitting closer to Van Landing's chair, and, hands claspedaround her knees, looked up into his eyes. In hers was puzzledquestioning. 

"I beg your pardon. " His face flushed under the grave scrutiny bentupon him. "I was reading abominably, but I couldn't get my mind--"

"I know, " Carmencita nodded understandingly. "I do that way sometimeswhen I'm saying one thing and thinking another, and Father alwaystakes a little nap until I get out of the clouds. He says I spend alot of my time in the clouds. I'm bound to soar sometimes. If I didn'tmake out I wasn't really and truly living here, on the top floor, withthe Rheinhimers underneath, but just waiting for our house to be fixedup, I couldn't stand it all the time. I'd go--"

She hesitated, then again went on. "You see, it's this way. There 'rea lot of things I hate, but I've got to stand them, and the only way Ican do it is to get away from them in my mind sometimes. Father saysit's the way we stand things that proves the kind of person we are;but Father is Father, and I am me, and letting out is a great relief. Did you ever feel as if you're bound to say things sometimes?"

"I'm afraid I've not only felt I had to say them, but I said them. "Van Landing looked at his watch. "Your Father is doubtless right, but--"

"Noodles hasn't had time to get back yet, and she might not bethere. " Carmencita glanced toward the clock. "And Father is alwaysright. He's had to sit so many hours alone and think and think andthink, that he's had time to ask God about a good many things we don'ttake time to ask about. I pray a lot, but my kind of prayers isn'tpraying. They're mostly asking, and Father says prayer isreceiving--is getting God in you, I mean. I don't understand, but hedoes, and he doesn't ask for things like I do, but for patience andcourage and--and things like that. No matter what happens, he keeps ontrusting. I don't. I'm not much of a truster. I want to do things myway, myself. " She leaned forward. "If I tell you something will youpromise not to tell anybody, not even Miss Frances when--when it's allright?"

"I promise. "

Van Landing nodded at the eager little face upraised to his. It wassingularly attractive and appealing, and the varying emotions thatswept over it indicated a temperament that took little in life calmly, or as a commonplace happening, and a surge of protest at hersurroundings swept over him. 

"I promise, " he repeated. "I won't tell. "

"Cross your heart and shut your eyes and I will tell you. "

Hands on his knees, Carmencita watched the awkward movements of VanLanding's fingers, then she laughed joyously, but when she spoke hervoice was in a whisper. 

"I'm writing a book. "

"You are doing what?"

"Writing a book! It's perfectly grand. That is, some days it is, butmost days it is a mess. It was a mess yesterday, and I burned up everysingle word I wrote last week. I'll show it to you if you want to seeit. "

Without waiting for an answer Carmencita sprang to her feet, and withnoiseless movement skipped across the room, and from the middle drawerof the chest between the windows took out a large flat box. 

"This is it. " Again taking her seat on the stool at Van Landing'sfeet, she opened the box carefully. One by one she lifted out of itpieces of paper of varying size and color and held them toward hervisitor, who, hands clasped between knees, was bending forward andwatching with amazed interest the seemingly exhaustless contents ofthe box beside him. 

"I use pad-paper when I have it. " Several white sheets were laid in apile by themselves. "But most of the chapters are on wrapping-paper. Mrs. Beckwith gives me all of hers, and so does Mrs. Rheinhimer whenher children don't chew it up before she can save it. That's chapterfourteen. I don't like it much, it's so squshy, but I wrote it thatway because I read in a newspaper once that slops sold better thananything else, and I'm writing this to sell, if I can. "

"Have you named it?" Van Landing's voice was as serious asCarmencita's. "I've been told that a good title is a great help to abook. I hope yours will bring you a good deal of money, but--"

"So do I. " Carmencita's hands came together fervently. "I'm bound tomake some money, and this is the only way I can think of until I'mfourteen and can go to work. I'm just thirteen and two months, and Ican't go yet. The law won't let me. I used to think it took a lot ofsense to write a book, but the Damanarkist says it don't, and thatanybody who is fool enough to waste time could write the truck peopleread nowadays. He don't read it, but I do, all I can get--I like it. "

"I've never tried to write. " Van Landing again glanced at the clock. Noodles was staying an interminably long time. "Like you, I imaginedit took some measure of ability--"

"Oh, but it don't. I mean it doesn't take any to write things likethat. " Carmencita's finger pointed to several backless magazines and acouple of paper-bound books on the table behind her. "I read once thatpeople like to read things that make them laugh and cry and--andforget about the rent money, and tell all about love-dovies andvillains and beautiful maidens, and my book's got some of all thosekinds of things in it. It hasn't got any--What did you say you thoughtit took to write a book?"

"Ability--that is, a little of it. "

"I guess that depends on the kind of book it is. I put something ofeverything I could think of in mine, but I didn't put any ability in. I didn't have any to put, and, besides, I wanted it to sell. That'sthe chapter I love best. " A large piece of brown paper was waved inthe air. "It's the one in which the Princess Patricia gets ready todie because she hears her sweetheart making love to some one else, andthen she comes to her senses and makes him marry the other girl sothey can live miserable ever after, and the Princess goes about doinggood like Miss Frances. But I'm going to marry her to somebody beforeI'm through--I'm--"

"You believe in marriage, then. " Van Landing smiled, and, stooping, picked up several sheets of paper evidently torn from a blank-book. "This must be the courtship chapter. It seems rather sentimental. "

"It is. Regular mush slush. It's the kind of courting a man who isn'tmuch does--that is, I guess it's the kind, but the Princessunderstands. She's been fooled once. Tell me"--Carmencita leanedforward and, arms again crossed on Van Landing's knees, lookedanxiously in his face--"what does a man say when he's really and trulycourting? I mean a nice man. When the Real one comes, the Rightone--what will he say? I'm just about there, and I don't know how togo on. "

"I wish I could tell you. " Van Landing leaned back in his chair and, taking out his watch again, looked at it. "I shouldn't dare to try towrite a novel, consequently--"

"I'll try anything while I'm waiting to go to work. " Carmencita satback dejectedly. "Is a book a novel because it has love in it?"

"It is generally supposed to be. When you are older you may writeyour love scenes with greater knowledge and--"

"No, I won't. I don't expect to have any love scenes when I getmarried. I've read a lot of that, and it don't last. All I want myhusband to say is, 'Will you marry me, Carmencita?' and I will say, 'Yes, ' and I hope we'll keep on liking each other. Some don't. " Herface changed, and she sat upright, her hands pressed to her breast. "_This_ is a novel--to--night is! We're living one, and you're thePrince and Miss Frances is the Princess, and I found you! Oh, mygoodness! what is that?"

With a swift movement she was on her feet and at the door. VanLanding, too, rose quickly. Below could be heard loud voices, themoving of furniture, and the cries of frightened children, andcautiously Carmencita turned the knob and went into the hall. 

"Old Beer-Barrel is drunk again. " Tiptoeing to the banister, sheleaned over it. "When he gets like this he's crazy as a loon, and someday he'll kill somebody. Goodness gracious! he's coming up here!"

Before Van Landing could reach her she was inside and at thewash-stand. Taking up the pitcher filled with water, she again raninto the hall, and as the cursing, stumbling man began to mount thestairs she leaned over the banister and poured the contents of thepitcher on his head. As if shot, the man stood still, face upturned, hair drenched, hands trembling, then he sat down on the steps. 

Giving the pitcher to Van Landing, she told him to fill it and pointedto a faucet in the hall. "I don't think he'll need another; one isgenerally enough. I've seen him like this before. His wife won't throwwater in his face, but I throw. " She leaned farther over the railing. "If you'll be quiet and go back quick I won't put any more water onyou; it's awful cold, but if you don't--"

Slowly, and as if dazed, the man on the steps got up, and as hedisappeared Carmencita nodded to her visitor to go back to her Father, now standing by the table. Closing the door, she came toward him andpushed him again in his chair, smoothing lightly the snow-white hairand kissing the trembling fingers, then at his feet she took her seat. 

"I'm so sorry he waked you. It was just old Beer-Barrel. He oughtn'tto drink"--she raised her eyes to Van Landing's--"but a man who's gota wife like his is bound to do something, and sometimes I wish I couldput the water on her instead of him. "

CHAPTER VIII

For a moment Van Landing walked up and down the room, hands in hispockets and heart pounding in a way of which he was ashamed. Ordinarily the sight of a drunken man would have awakened littleemotion save disgust, but the realization of the helplessness of thetwo people before him filled him with inward rage, and for some timehe could not trust himself to speak. A sickening horror of thishideous side of life filled him with strange protest. Yesterday he hadnot known and had not cared that such things could be, and now--

On Carmencita's face was none of the alarm that had come into his. Herfather, too, was getting over his fright. For this helpless old manand fair, frail child, whose wit and courage were equal to situationsof which she had the right of childhood to be ignorant, the scene justwitnessed had the familiarity of frequent repetition, but for him itwas horribly new, and if the Damanarkist of whom Carmencita so oftenspoke should come in he would be glad to shake his hand. 

A noise at the door made him start. They were coming. The boy andFrances. He dug his hands deeper in his pockets to hide theirtrembling, and his face went white. 

But it was not Noodles. It was Mr. Robinsky, who had brought the harp, and, though he evidently intended to sit down and talk, withconsummate skill and grace he was led into the hall by Carmencita andtold good night with sweetness and decision. It was wonderfullymanaged. No man could have done it, and in his heart Van Landingthanked her; but before he could speak there was a loud pounding onthe door, and both he and Carmencita started nervously toward it. 

"It's Noodles. I know his knock. " Carmencita's hands clasped tightly, and in her voice was eager trembling. "I'm so excited I can't breathegood! It's like being in a book. Go in the room over there quick, Mr. Van. Come in!"

With inward as well as outward rigidity Van Landing waited. To themovements of Carmencita's hand waving him away he paid no attention. In thick, heavy throbs his heart sent the blood to his face, then itreceded, and for a moment the room was dark and he saw nothing. To the"come in" of Carmencita the door opened, and he looked in itsdirection. Noodles was alone. 

"Where is she?" Carmencita's voice was high and shrill in excitementand dismay. "I told you to wait for her! You know I told you to waitfor her!"

Cap in hand, Noodles looked first at Van Landing and then at thechild. "Warn't no her to wait for, " he said, presently. "She ain'tthere, and she didn't go to the class to-night. Miss James went forher. Some of her kin-folks is in town staying with some theirkin-folks, and she is spending the night with 'em. " The now soiled andcrumpled note was held toward Carmencita. "She won't be back till dayafter to-morrow, what's Christmas eve, though she might come backto-morrow night, Fetch-It said. Warn't nobody there butFetch-It--leastways warn't nobody else I seen. "

Van Landing looked at Carmencita, then turned sharply and went overtoward the window. A choking, stifling sensation made breathingdifficult, and, the tension of the past few hours relaxed, he felt asone on the edge of a precipice from which at any moment he mighttopple over. It was too cold to open the window, but he must have air. Going to the couch, he took up his hat and coat, then came back andheld out his hand. 

"Give him this"--he nodded at Noodles, "and tell your father goodnight. And thank you, Carmencita, thank you for letting me come. To-morrow--" The room was getting black. "I will see you to-morrow. "

A moment later he was out of the room and down the steps and on thestreet, and in the darkness he walked as one who feels something inhis way he cannot see; and then he laughed, and the laugh was hard andbitter, and in it was a sound that was not good to hear. 

The cold air stung his face, made breathing better, and after a whilehe looked up. For many blocks he had walked unheedingly, but, hearinga church-bell strike the hour, he took out his watch and glanced atit. To go home was impossible. Turning into a side-street, he walkedrapidly in a direction that led he knew not whither, and for a whilelet the stinging sensation of disappointment and rebellion possess himwithout restraint. It was pretty cruel, this sudden shutting of thedoor of hope in his face. The discovery of Frances's presence in thecity had brought again in full tumultuous surge the old love andlonging, and the hours of waiting had been well-nigh unendurable. Andnow he would have to wait until day after to-morrow. He would goto-morrow night to this Mother Somebody. What was her name? He couldremember nothing, was, indeed, as stupid as if he had been knocked inthe head. Well, he had been. Where did this woman live? The child hadrefused to tell him. With a sudden stop he looked around. Where washe? He had walked miles in and out of streets as unknown to him as ifpart of a city he had never been in, and he had no idea where he was. A sudden fear gripped him. Where did Carmencita live? He had paid noattention to the streets they were on when she took him to the houseshe called home. He was full of other thought, but her address, ofcourse, he would get before he left, and he had left without asking. What a fool he was! What a stupid fool! For half a moment he lookeduncertainly up and down the street whose name he did not know. Nopoliceman was in sight; no one was in sight except a woman on theopposite pavement, who was scurrying along with something under hershawl hugged close to her breast, and a young girl who was coming hisway. Turning, he retraced his steps. He did not know in whichdirection to go. He only knew he must keep on. Perhaps he could findhis way back to the place where Carmencita lived. 

He did not find it. Through the night he walked street after street, trying to recall some building he had passed, but he had walked asblind men walk, and nothing had been noticed. To ask of people whatthey could not tell was useless. He did not know the name of thestreet he wanted to find, and, moreover, a curious shrinking kept himfrom inquiring. In the morning he would find it, but he did not wantto make demands upon the usual sources for help until he had exhaustedall other means of redeeming his folly in not learning Carmencita'sfull name and address before he left her. Was a man's whole life to bechanged, to be made or unmade, by whimsical chance or by stupidblunder? In the gray dawn of a new day he reached his home and went tobed for a few hours' sleep. 

When, later, he left his house to renew his search for Carmencita theweather had changed. It had begun to snow, and tiny particles of icestung his face as he walked, and the people who passed shivered asthey hurried by. On every street that offered chance of being the onehe sought he went up and down its length, and not until he felt he wasbeing noticed did he take into partial confidence a good-naturedpoliceman who had nodded to him on his third passing. The man waskindly, but for hay-stack needles there was no time and he wasdirected to headquarters. To find a house, number unknown, on astreet, name unknown, of a party, full name again unknown, was toomuch of a puzzle for busy times like these. Any other time thanChristmas--He was turned from that an inquiry from a woman with achild in her arms might be answered. 

"Any other time than Christmas!"

With a sense of demoralization it was dawning on him that he might notfind her, or Carmencita, in time for Christmas, and he _must_ findthem. A great hunger for the day to be to him what it seemed to be toothers possessed him feverishly, and with eyes that saw what they hadnever seen before he watched, as he walked, the faces of the peoplewho passed, and in his heart crept childish longing to buy somethingfor somebody, something that was wanted very much, as these peopleseemed to be doing. He had made out the checks he usually sent tocertain institutions and certain parties at this season of the yearfor his head clerk to mail. By this time they had been received, butwith them had gone no word of greeting or good will; his card alonehad been inclosed. A few orders had been left at various stores, butwith them went no Christmas spirit. He wondered how it would feel tobuy a thing that could make one's face look as Carmencita's had lookedwhen she made her purchase of the night before. It was a locket shehad bought--a gold locket. 

In a whispered confidence while in the car she had told him it was forher mother's picture. The picture used to be in her father's watch, but the watch had to be sold when he was sick, after her mother'sdeath, and he had missed the touch of the picture so. She knew, foroften she had seen him holding his watch in his hand, open at theback, where the picture lay, with his fingers on it, and sometimes hewould kiss it when he thought she was out of the room. After the watchwas sold the picture had been folded up in one of her mother'shandkerchiefs, and her father kept it in the pocket of his coat; butonce it had slipped out of the handkerchief, and once through a holein the pocket, and they thought it was lost. Her father hadn't sleptany that night. And now he could sleep with the locket around hisneck. She would put it on a ribbon. Wasn't it grand? And Carmencita'shands had clasped ecstatically. 

Up and down the streets he went, looking, looking, looking. Thedistrict in which he found himself was one of the poorest in the city, but the shops were crowded with buyers, and, though the goods for salewere cheap and common and of a quality that at other times would haverepelled, to-day they interested. Carmencita might be among theshoppers. She had said she had a few things to get for somechildren--penny things--and she was possibly out, notwithstanding thesnow which now was falling thick and fast. 

Some time after his usual lunch-hour he remembered he must havesomething to eat; and, going into a dingy-looking restaurant, he satdown at a table, the only one which had a vacant seat at it, andordered coffee and oysters. His table companion was a half-grown boywith chapped hands and a thin white face; but his eyes were clear andhappy, and the piece of pie he was eating was being swallowed in hugehunks. It was his sole order, a piece of awful-looking pie. As thecoffee and oysters were brought him Van Landing saw the boy look atthem hungrily and then turn his eyes away. 

"I beg your pardon. " Van Landing, whose well-regulated life permittedof few impulses, turned to the boy. "I ordered these things"--hepointed to the steaming food--"and I don't want them. I want somethingelse. Would you mind having them? It's a pity to throw them away. "

The boy hesitated, uncertain what was meant, then he laughed. "It sureis, " he said. "If you don't want them I'll help you out. I'm hollow asa hound what's been on a hunt. Good thing Christmas don't come butonce a year. You can cut out lunch better'n anything else for asave-up, though. That girl over there"--he pointed his finger behindhim--"ain't had nothing but a glass of milk for a month. She's gotsome kiddie brothers and sisters, and they're bound to have Christmas, she says. Rough day, ain't it?"

Van Landing gave another order. Had it not been for the gnawingrestlessness, the growing fear, which filled him, the scene would haveinterested. A few days ago he would have seen only the sordid side ofit, the crudeness and coarseness; but the search he was on hadhumanized what hitherto had only seemed a disagreeable andobjectionable side of life, and the people before him were of an oddkinship. In their faces was hunger. There were so many kinds of hungerin the world. He got up, and with a nod to the boy paid his bill andwent out. 

Through the afternoon hours he walked steadily. Dogged determinationmade him keep on, just as sensitive shrinking prevented his makinginquiries of others. It was silly to ask what couldn't be answered. Hemust have been mad the night before not to have noticed where he wasgoing, not to have asked Carmencita her name. 

By four o'clock the street-lights had been turned on, making of thedark, dingy tenements a long lane with high, unbroken walls, and on acorner he stood for a moment wondering which was the best way to go. To his left were shops; he went toward them, and each face of thechildren coming in or going out was scanned intently. Seeing a grouppressed close to a window in which was displayed an assortment ofdolls of all sorts and sizes, with peculiar clothing of peculiarcolors, he went toward them, stood for a moment by their side. One ofthe children was the size of Carmencita. 

"That's mine--that one in the pink-silk dress"--a dirty little fingerwas pointed to a huge and highly decorated doll in the center of thewindow--"that and the blue beads, and that box of paints with thepicture on it, and--"

"You're a pig, all right. Want the earth, don't you? Well, you can'thave it. " And valiantly a child with a shawl on her head pushed closerto the window, now clouded by the steam from many little mouths. "Iwant that one--the one in long clothes with a cap on. What you want, Lizzie Lue? Look out there and keep your elbows where theybelong"--this to the jostling, pushing crowd behind. "Come on, kid;kick if you have to; only way you can manage some folks. Which one youwant, Lizzie Lue?" And a tiny scrap of a child was held up in arms butlittle bigger than her own. 

As Van Landing listened a sudden impulse to take the children in andget for them the things they wanted came over him; then he walkedaway. If only he could find Carmencita and let her do the buying. WasChristmas like this every year? These children with no chance--wasthere no one to give them their share of childhood's rights?Settlement workers, churches, schools, charity associations--things ofthat sort doubtless saw to them. It was not his business. But wasn'tit his business? Could it possibly be his business to know--and care?

"I beg your pardon, sir. "

Van Landing looked up. A tall, slender man in working-clothes, abasket on one arm, his wife holding to the other, tried to touch hishat. "The crowd makes walking hard without pushing. I hope I didn'tstep on your foot. "

"Didn't touch it. " The man had on no overcoat, and his hands were redand chapped. He was much too thin for his height, and as he coughedVan Landing understood. "Shopping, I suppose?"

Why he asked he did not know, and it was the wife he asked, the youngwife whose timid clutch of her husband's arm was very unlike themanner of most of the women he had passed. She looked up. 

"We were afraid to wait until to-morrow, it's snowing so hard. Wemight not be able to get out, and the children--"

"We've got three kiddies home. " The man's thin face brightened, and herubbed his coat sleeve across his mouth to check his cough. "SantaClaus is sure enough to them, and we don't want 'em to know differenttill we have to. A merry Christmas, sir!"

As they went on Van Landing turned and looked. They were poor people. But were they quite so poor as he? He had seen many for whom he mighthave made Christmas had he known in time--might have saved thesacrifices that had to be made; but would it then have been Christmas?Slowly, very slowly, in the shabby street and snow-filled air, anunderstanding of things but dimly glimpsed before was coming to him, and he was seeing what for long had been unseen. 

CHAPTER IX

"Think hard, Father--oh, _please_ think hard! It was Van--Van--"Carmencita, hands clutched tightly behind her back, leaned forward onher tiptoes and anxiously peered into her father's face for sign ofdawning memory. "If I hadn't been so Christmas-crazy I'd have listenedbetter, but I wasn't thinking about his name. Can't you--_can't_ youremember the last part? It was Van--Van--"

Slowly her father shook his head. "I wish I could, Carmencita. I don'thear well of late and I didn't catch his name. You called him Mr. Van. "

"I called him that for short. I'm a cutting-down person even innames. " The palms of Carmencita's hands came together and her fingersinterlocked. "If I'd had more sense and manners I'd have called hisname right from the first, and we wouldn't have lost him. I couldhave found him to-day if I'd known what to look for in thetelephone-book, or if Miss Frances had been at Mother McNeil's. Shemight as well be lost, too, but she'll be back at seven, and that'swhy I am going now, so as to be there the minute she gets in, to askher what his--"

"She might not like your asking, Carmencita. You must be careful, child. Miss Barbour is not a lady one can--"

"Not a lady one can what?" Carmencita stopped her nervous swaying, andthe big blue eyes looked questioningly at her father. "Was there evera lady who didn't want to find her lost lover if he was looking forher? That's what he is. And she wants to find him, if she don't knowit exactly. She's working it off down here with us children, but she'sgot something on her mind. He's it. We've got to find him, Father--gotto!"

With a dexterous movement of her fingers Carmencita fastened thebuttons of her coat and pulled her hat down on her head. "I'm goingback to Mother McNeil's, " she said, presently, and the large andhalf-worn rubbers which she had tied on over her shoes were looked atspeculatively. "The Damanarkist is going to take me. As soon as MissFrances tells me Mr. Van's name I'll telephone him to come quick, butI won't tell her that. She might go away again. In that slushy book Iread the girl ought to have been shook. She was dying dead in lovewith her sweetheart and treated him like he was a poodle-dog. MissFrances wouldn't do that, but I don't know what she might do, and I'mnot going to tell her any more than I can help. I want her to think itjust happened. Good-by, and go to sleep if you want to, but don'tsmoke, please. You might drop the sparks on your coat. Good-by. "

With a swift kiss she was gone and, meeting the Damanarkist, who waswaiting outside the door, they went down the three flights of stepsand out into the street. The wind was biting, and, turning up thecollar of her coat, Carmencita put her hands in her pockets and madeeffort to walk rapidly through the thick snow into which her feet sankwith each step. For some minutes conversation was impossible. Headsducked to keep out of their faces the fast-falling flakes, theytrudged along in silence until within a few doors of Mother McNeil'shouse, and then Carmencita looked up. 

"Do--do you ever pray, Mr. Leimberg--pray hard, I mean?"

"Pray!" The Damanarkist drew in his breath and laughed with smotheredscorn. "Pray! Why should I pray? I cut out prayer when I was a kid. No, I don't pray. "

"It's a great comfort, praying is. " Carmencita's hand was taken out ofher pocket and slipped through the arm of her disillusioned friend. "Sometimes you're just bound to pray. It's like breathing--you can'thelp it. It--it just rises up. I prayed yesterday for--for something, and it pretty near happened, but--"

"And you think your praying helped to make it happen!" Mr. Leimbergdrew Carmencita's hand farther through his arm, and his lips twistedin contemptuous pity. "You think there is a magician up--oh, somewhere, who makes things happen, do you? Think--"

"Yes. " Carmencita's feet skipped in spite of the clogging snow. "Ithink that somewhere there is Somebody who knows about everything, butI don't think He means us to ask for anything we want just because wewant it and don't do a lick to get it. I've been praying for monthsand months about my temper and stamping my foot when I get mad, andif I remember in time and hold down the up-comings my prayers arealways answered; but when I let go and forget--" Carmencita whistled along, low, significant note. "I guess then I don't want to beanswered. I want to smash something. But I didn't pray yesterday abouttempers and stamping. It was pretty near a miracle that I asked for, though I said I wasn't asking for miracles or--"

"All people who pray ask for miracles. Since the days when men fearedfloods and famines and pestilence and evil spirits they have cried outfor protection and propitiated what to them were gods. " TheDamanarkist spit upon the ground as if to spew contempt of pretenseand cupidity. "I've no patience with it. If there is a God, He knowsthe cursed struggle life is with most of us; and if there isn't, prayer is but a waste of time. "

Carmencita lifted her eyes and for a moment looked in the dark, thinface, embittered by the losing battle of life, as if she had not heardaright, then she laughed softly. 

"If I didn't know you, dear Mr. Damanarkist, I'd think you reallymeant it--what you said. And you don't. I don't guess there's anybodyin all the world who doesn't pray sometimes. Something in you does itby itself, and you can't keep it back. You just wait until you feelall lost and lonely and afraid, or so glad you are ready to sing outloud, then you'll do it--inside, if you don't speak out. If I prayedharder to have more sense and not talk so much, and not say what Ithink about people, and not hate my ugly clothes so, and despise thesmell of onions and cabbage and soap-suds, I might get more answers, but you can't get answers just by praying. You've got to work like themischief, and be a regular policeman over yourself and nab the badthings the minute they poke their heads out. If I'd prayed differentlyyesterday I wouldn't have been looking for--for somebody all to-day, and be a jumping-jack to-night for fear I won't find him. Did--did youever have a sweetheart, Mr. Damanarkist?" Before answer could be madeMother McNeil's house was reached, and with steps that were leapsCarmencita was at the door, and a moment later inside. Finding thatMiss Frances had returned, she called to Mr. Leimberg to come for heron his way back from the station library where he was to get his book, and breathlessly she ran to Miss Barbour's door and knocked violentlyupon it. 

To the "come in" she entered, eyes big and shining, and cheeks stunginto color by the bitter wind; and with a rush forward the hands ofher adored friend were caught and held with a tight and nervous grip. 

"Miss Frances! Miss Frances!"

Two arms were flung around Miss Barbour's waist, and for a moment thecurly brown head was buried on her breast and words refused to come;instead came breathing short and quick; then Carmencita looked up. 

"What--oh, what is his name, Miss Frances? He was found and now islost, and I promised--I promised I'd get you for him!"

Frances Barbour lifted the excited little face and kissed it. "What'sthe matter, Carmencita? You look as if you'd seen a ghost, and you'retalking as if--"

"I'm crazy--I'm not. And there isn't any time to lose. He said he_must_ find you before Christmas. There isn't a soul to make Christmasfor him, and he hasn't anybody to buy things for, and he's as lonelyas a--a desert person, and he doesn't want any one but you. Oh, MissFrances, what is his name?"

Frances Barbour leaned back in the chair in which she had taken herseat, and her face whitened. "What are you talking about, and whois--"

"I'm talking about--Him. " On her knees Carmencita crouched against herfriend's chair, and her long, slender fingers intertwined with thosewhich had suddenly grown nerveless. "I'm talking about yoursweetheart, Miss Frances. I found him for you, and then I lost him. I'll tell you how it happened after I know all of his name and--If youhad seen his face when I told him I knew you and knew where you livedyou'd hurry, you'd--"

"If he wishes to see me, why doesn't he--I mean--" Sudden color surgedinto the face turned from the child's eager eyes. "What are we talkingabout, Carmencita? There is evidently some mistake. "

"There is. An awful one. It's three years old. And we're talking aboutthe gentleman Father and I met yesterday and lost last night. You'rehis sweetheart, and he wants you for Christmas and for ever after, andhe may be dead by to-morrow if he doesn't find you. He came to ourhouse, and I wrote you a note to come, too, and when you didn't do ithe looked as if he'd been hit in the face and couldn't breathe good, and he stumbled down the steps like a blind man, and we'd forgot totell him our name, and he didn't know the number of our house, and--"She paused for breath and brushed back the curls from her face. "Iknow he's been looking all day. Where does he live, Miss Frances, andwhat is his name?"

"If you will tell me of whom you are talking I will tell you whetheror not I know him. Until you do--"

"I told you I didn't remember any of his name but the Van part. Don'tyou know the name of the person you love best on earth? It's his nameI want. "

Frances Barbour got up and walked over to the bureau and opened itstop drawer. "You are asking questions that in any one else I would notpermit, Carmencita. I am sure you do not mean to be--"

"I don't mean anything but that I want to know all of Mr. Van's name, and if you don't tell me you are not a Christian!"

With a change of expression Carmencita sprang to her feet and, handsclasped behind her back, she stood erect, her eyes blazing withindignation. "If you don't tell him where you are, don't let him come, I'll think it's all just make-believe and put on, your coming anddoing for people you don't really and truly know, and doing nothingfor those you do, and letting the ones you love best be lonely andmiserable and having Christmas all by themselves when they're starvinghungry for you. What is his name?" Carmencita's voice was high andshrill, and her foot was stamped vehemently. "What is his name?"

"Stephen Van Landing. "

Face to face, Frances Barbour and Carmencita looked into each other'seyes, then with a leap Carmencita was out of the room and down thesteps and at the telephone. With hands that trembled she turned thepages of the book she was holding upside down, then with disgust ather stupidity she righted it and ran her finger down the long line ofV's. Finding at last the name she wanted, she called the number, thenclosed her eyes and prayed fervently, feverishly, and half-aloud thewords came jerkily:

"O God, please let him be home, and let him get down here quick beforeMiss Frances goes out. She and Mother McNeil are going somewhere andwon't be back until eleven, and that would be too late for him tocome, and--Hello!" The receiver was jammed closer to her ear. "Isthat Mr. Van Landing's house? Is he home? He--he--isn't home!" Thewords came in a little wail. "Oh, he must be home! Are yousure--_sure_? Where can I get him? Where is he? You don't know--hasn'tbeen at the office all day and hasn't telephoned? He's looking--I meanI guess he's, trying to find somebody. Who is this talking? It's--it'sa friend of his, and tell him the minute he comes in to call up Pelham4293 and ask for Miss Frances Barbour, who wants to talk to him. Andlisten. Tell him if she's out to come to 14 Custer Street, to MotherMcNeil's, and wait until she gets home. Write it down. Got it? Yes, that's it. Welcome. Good-by. "

The receiver was hung upon its hook, and for a moment Carmencitastared at the wall; then her face sobered. The strain and tension ofthe day gave way, and the high hopes of the night before went out asat the snuffing of a candle. Presently she nodded into space. 

"I stamped my foot at Miss Frances. _Stamped my foot_! And I got mad, and was impertinent, and talked like a gutter girl to a sure-enoughlady. Talked like--"

Her teeth came down on her lips to stop their sudden quivering, andthe picture on the wall grew blurred and indistinct. 

"There isn't any use in praying. " Two big tears rolled down her cheeksand fell upon her hands. "I might as well give up. "

CHAPTER X

For a half-moment after Carmencita left the room Frances Barbour stoodin the middle of the floor and stared at the door, still open, thenwent over and closed it. Coming back to the table at which she hadbeen writing, she sat down and took up her pen and made large circleson the sheet of paper before her. Slowly the color in her face cooledand left it white. 

Carmencita was by nature cyclonic. Her buoyancy and bubbling spirits, her enthusiasms and intensities, were well understood, but how couldshe possibly know Stephen Van Landing? All day he had been strangelyon her mind, always he was in her heart, but thought of him was forcedto be subconscious, for none other was allowed. Of late, however, crowd it back as she would, a haunting sense of his presence had beenwith her, and under the busy and absorbed air with which she had goneabout the day's demands there had been sharp surge of unpermittedmemories of which she was impatient and ashamed. 

Also there had been disquieting questions, questions to which she hadlong refused to listen, and in the crush and crowd they had pursuedher, peered at her in unexpected places, and faced her in the quiet ofher room, and from them she was making effort to escape whenCarmencita burst in upon her. The latter was too excited, too full ofsome new adventure, to talk clearly or coherently. Always Carmencitawas adventuring, but what could she mean by demanding to know the nameof her sweetheart, and by saying she had found him and then lost him?And why had she, Frances Barbour, told her as obediently as if theirpositions were reversed and she the child instead of Carmencita?

Elbow on the table and chin in the palm of her hand, she tapped thedesk-pad with her pen and made small dots in the large circles she haddrawn on the paper, and slowly she wrote a name upon it. 

What could Stephen Van Landing be doing in this part of the town? Hewas one of the city's successful men, but he did not know his city. Disagreeable sights and sounds had by him been hitherto avoided, andin this section they were chiefly what was found. Why should he havecome to it? That he was selfish and absorbed in his own affairs, thathe was conventional and tradition--trained, was as true to-day, perhaps, as when she had told him so three years ago, but had theytaught him nothing, these three years that were past? Did he stillthink, still believe--

With a restless movement she turned in her chair, and her handstwisted in her lap. Was she not still as stubborn as of old, still asproud and impatient of restraint where her sense of freedom andindependence of action were in question, still as self-willed? And wasit true, what Carmencita had said--was she giving herself to othersand refusing herself to the only one who had the right to claim her, the royal right of love?

But how did she know he still needed her, wanted her? When she hadreturned to her own city after long absence she had told of herpresent place of residence to but few of her old friends. Her ownsorrow, her own sudden facing of the inevitable and unescapable, hadbrought her sharply to a realization of how little she was doing withthe time that was hers, and she had been honest and sincere when shehad come to Mother McNeil's and asked to be shown the side of life shehad hitherto known but little--the sordid, sinful, struggling side inwhich children especially had so small a chance. In these years ofabsence he had made no sign. Even if it were true, what Carmencita hadsaid, that he--that is, a man named Van Something--was looking forher, until he found her she could not tell him where she was. 

She had not wished her friends to know. Settlements and society wereas oil and water, and for the present the work she had undertakenneeded all her time and thought. If only people knew, if only peopleunderstood, the things that she now knew and had come to understand, the inequalities and injustices of life would no longer sting anddarken and embitter as they stung and darkened and embittered now, andif she and Stephen could work together--

He was living in the same place, his offices were in the same place, and he worked relentlessly, she was told. Although he did not know shewas in the city, she knew much of him, knew of his practicalwithdrawal from the old life, knew of a certain cynicism that wasbecoming settled; and a thousand times she had blamed herself for theunhappiness that was his as well as hers. She loved her work, wouldalways be glad that she had lived among the people who were sosingularly like those other people who thought themselves sodifferent, but if he still needed her, wanted her, was it not herduty--

With an impatient movement of her hands she got up and went over tothe window. There was no duty about it. It was love that called him toher. She should not have let Carmencita go without finding from herhow it happened that she had met Stephen Van Landing on Custer Street. She must go to Carmencita and ask her. If he were really looking forher they might spend Christmas together. The blood surged hotly to herface, and the beating of her heart made her hands unsteady. Iftogether--

A noise behind made her turn. Hand on the door-knob, Carmencita wasstanding in the hall, her head inside the room. All glow was gone, andhope and excitement had yielded to dejection and despair. 

"I just came to beg your pardon for--for stamping my foot, and I'msorry I said what I did. " The big blue eyes looked down on the floorand one foot twisted around the other. "It isn't any use to forgiveme. I'm not worth forgiving. I'm not worth--"

The door was slammed violently, and before Miss Barbour could reachthe hall Carmencita was down the steps and out into the street, wherethe Damanarkist was waiting. 

CHAPTER XI

Late into the night Stephen Van Landing kept up his hurried walking. Again and again he had stopped and made inquiries of policemen, ofchildren, of men and women, but no one knew that of which he asked. Ablind man who played the harp, a child named Carmencita, a boy calledNoodles, a settlement house, he supposed, over which Mother Somebodypresided--these were all he had to go on. To ask concerning MissBarbour was impossible. He could not bring himself to call her name. He would have to go to headquarters for help. To-morrow would beChristmas eve. He _would not_ spend Christmas alone--or in the usualway. 

"Say, mister, don't you wish you was a boy again? Get out the way!"

With a push the boy swept by him, pulling on a self-constructed sleigha still smaller boy, and behind the two swarmed a bunch of yellingyoungsters who, as they passed, pelted him with snow. One of themstopped to tie the string of his shoe, and, looking down, Van Landingsaw--Noodles. 

With a swift movement he reached down to grab him, but, thinking itwas a cop, the boy was up and gone with a flash and in half a momentwas out of sight. As swiftly as the boy Van Landing ran down thestreet and turned the corner he had seen the boy turn. His heart wasbeating thickly, his breath came unevenly, and the snow was blinding, but there was no thought of stopping. He bumped into a man comingtoward him, and two hats flew in the air and on the pavement, but hewent on. The hat did not matter, only Noodles mattered, and Noodlescould no longer be seen. Down the street, around first one corner andthen another, he kept on in fierce pursuit for some moments; then, finding breathing difficult, he paused and leaned against the steprailing of a high porch, to better get his bearings. Disappointmentand fury were overmastering him. It was impossible and absurd to havewithin one's grasp what one had been looking for all day and part oftwo nights, and have it slip away like that. 

"Come on. No use--that--" The policeman's voice was surly. "If you'llwalk quiet I won't ring up. If you don't you'll get a free ride. Comeon. "

"Come on?" Van Landing put his hand to his head. His hat was gone. Helooked down at his feet. They were soaking wet. His overcoat wasglazed with a coating of fine particles of ice, and his hands weretrembling. He had eaten practically nothing since his lunch ofTuesday, had walked many miles, and slept but a few hours after anight of anxious searching, and suddenly he felt faint and sick. 

"Come on?" he repeated. "Come where?"

"Where you belong. " The policeman's grasp was steadying. "Hurry up. Ican't wait here all night. "

"Neither can I. " Van Landing took out his handkerchief and wiped hisface. "I wish you'd get my hat. " The crowd was pressing closer. He waslosing time and must get away. Besides, he could not trust himself. The man's manner was insolent, and he was afraid he would kick him. Instead he slipped some money in his hand. 

"Mistake, my friend. You'd have your trouble for nothing if you tookme in. There's no charge save running. I want to find a boy whopassed me just now. Name is Noodles. Know him?"

For a moment the cop hesitated. The man's voice, dress, manner, werenot the sort seen in this section, and the bill slipped in his handhad a yellow tinge--still--

"I've dropped my hat. Get it, will you?" Van Landing threw some changein the still gathering crowd, and as they scampered for it he turnedto the policeman, then caught hold of the railing. A hateful faintnesswas coming over him again. On the edge of the crowd a girl with amiddle-aged woman had stopped, and the girl was making her way towardhim. 

"What is it, Mr. Cronklin? Not one of our boys?" The clear voicereached him as if at his side. He steadied himself, stared, and triedto speak. 

"Frances, " he said, and held out his hands. "You've made me walk sofar, Frances, and Christmas is--"

In the snow his feet slipped. The cop was such a fool. He had neverfainted in his life. 

Some one was standing near him. Who was it, and where was he? Thiswasn't his room. On his elbow, he looked around. Nothing wasfamiliar. It must be a woman's room; he could see photographs and apin-cushion on the bureau, and flowers were growing on a table nearthe window. The bed he was in was small and white. His was big andbrass. What had happened? Slowly it came to him, and he started to getup, then fell back. The surge of blood receded, and again there wasgiddiness. Had he lost her? Had she, too, slipped out of his handsbecause of his confounded fall? It was a durned outrage that he shouldhave fallen. Who was that man with his back to the bed?

The man turned. "All right, are you? That's good!" His pulse was feltwith professional fingers, but in the doctor's voice was frankinterest. "You were pretty nearly frozen, man. It's well she saw you. "

"Where is she?" Van Landing sat up. "Where are my clothes? I must getup. "

"I guess not. " The doctor laughed, but his tone was as decisive as hisact. Van Landing was pushed back on the pillow and the covering pulledup. "Do you mean Miss Barbour?"

"Yes. Where is Miss Barbour?"

The doctor wrote something on a slip of paper. "Down-stairs, waitingto hear how you are. I'll go down and tell her. I'll see you in themorning. "

"Where am I? Whose house is this?"

"Your house at present. " The doctor laughed again. "It's MotherMcNeil's house, but all who need it use it, and you needed it, allright. You struck your head on the bottom step of the porch threedoors from here. Had it been an inch nearer the temple--Pretty badknock-out, as it was, but you'll be all right to-morrow. If you wakeup in a couple of hours take another one of these"--a pill wasobediently swallowed--"but you're to see no one until I see you again. No talking. "

"Sorry, but I must see Miss Barbour. " In Van Landing's voice was sharpfear. "Christmas isn't over yet? I haven't missed it, have I? Are yousure she's in this house?"

"Sure. She's getting ready for to-morrow. To-morrow will be thebusiest day in the year. It's Christmas eve. "

Van Landing slipped down in the bed and his face went deep in thepillows. Reaction was on. A horrible fear that he was going to cry, going to do some abominably childish thing, made him stuff thecovering in his mouth and press his feet hard against the foot of thebed. He would _not_ be cheated out of Christmas! He had believed hehated it, thought he wanted to be dead during it, and now if it wereover and nothing done--Presently he spoke. 

"Will you ask Miss Barbour if I may speak to her in themorning--before she goes out? My name is Van Landing--Stephen VanLanding. I was a friend of hers once. "

"One now. " The doctor's voice was dryly emphatic. "Lucky sherecognized you. Rather startled her, finding an old friend sounexpectedly. " Over his spectacles his kind, shrewd eyes looked downon the man in the bed. "I'll see her. Miss Barbour is an exceptionalwoman, but she's a woman, which means when she knows you are all rightshe may not have time to see you. At present she's outside your door. That's her knock. Guess she's got the milk. "

With breath held, Van Landing listened. Very low were the wordsspoken, then the door was closed again. His heart was calling to her. The long and empty years in which he had hoped against hope, and yetcould make no effort to find her, faded as mist fades before the lightthat dawns and glows; and to say no word when she was near, to holdhands still that longed to outstretch, to make no sign when he wouldkneel for pardon at her feet--it was not to be endured. He would notwait; the doctor must let her in!

But it was not the doctor who was at his bed. It was a short, plumpwoman of more than middle age, with twinkling gray eyes and firm, kindhands and a cheery voice. 

"It's the milk, my son, " she said, and the steaming glass was held tohis lips. "When you've had it you will sleep like a baby. It's warm, are you--and the feet good and hot? Let me feel that water-bag? Blessmy soul if it's even lukewarm, and your feet still shivery! It's nowonder, for they were ice itself when they brought you in. "

With dexterous fingers the hot-water bag was withdrawn from the footof the bed and Mother McNeil was out of the room. Back again, sheslipped it close to his feet, tucked in the covering, patted thepillows, and, lowering the light, turned to leave the room. At thedoor she stopped. 

"Is there anything you're needing, my son--anything I can do for you?"

For a moment there was silence, broken only by the ticking of a tinyclock on the mantel, then Van Landing spoke. 

"Yes. " His voice was boyishly low. "Will you ask Miss Barbour if I maysee her to-morrow before she goes out? I _must_ see her. "

"Of course I will. And you can tell her how it happened that you wereright near our door when you fell, and you didn't even know she was intown. Very few of her up-town friends know. There wasn't time for bothup-town and down-town, and there were things she wanted to find out. She tells me you are an old friend, and I'm glad you've come acrosseach other again. It pleases some folks to believe in chance, but Iget more comfort thinking God has His own way. Good night, Mr. VanLanding. Good dreams--good dreams!"

The door was closed softly, and under the bedclothes Van Landing againburied his face in the pillows, and his lips twitched. Chance--was itchance or was it God? If only God would give him a chance!

CHAPTER XII

He was too tired, too utterly relaxed by warmth and medicine, to thinkclearly. To-morrow he would find Carmencita, and she should get thethings the children wanted. They were very strange, the places andpeople he had seen to-day. Of course he had known about such placesand people, read about them, heard about them, but seeing for one'sself was different. There were a lot of bummers among these people hehad passed; much of their misery was of their own making (he had mademuch of his), but the wonder was they were no worse. 

Bold, bad faces, cold, pinched, hungry ones, eager, earnest, patheticand joyous, worn and weary, burdened and care-free, they again passedbefore him, misty and ill-defined, as though the snow still veiled andmade them hazy, and none of them he knew. He wished they would stoppassing. He was very tired. They, too, were tired. Would they forever be passing before him, these people, these little children, hehad seen to-day? If they would go away he could think more clearly, could think of Frances. She was here, in the house with him. At firstit had seemed strange, but it wasn't strange. It would be strange ifshe were not here when he needed her, wanted her so. To-morrow wouldnot be too late. One could do a good deal on Christmas eve. Everybodyhad been busy except himself. He would telephone to-morrow and tellHerrick to close the office and give Miss Davis holiday until afterNew-Year. 

But she had nowhere to go. He had heard her tell Herrick so, andHerrick had nowhere to go, either. Both lived in boarding-houses, hesupposed. He had never thought to ask. Herrick was a faithful oldplodder--never would be anything else--but he couldn't get on withouthim. He ought to raise his salary. Why didn't Herrick ask for moremoney if he wanted it? And then he could get married. Why didn't heget married, anyhow? Once or twice he had seen him talking to MissDavis about something that evidently wasn't business. She was a prettylittle thing and quick as lightning--just the opposite of oldHerrick. Wouldn't it be funny if they were in love; not, of course, like--

They had nowhere to go Christmas. If Frances would let them they mightcome here--no, not here, but at his home, their home. His home wasFrances's. It wouldn't be home for him if it weren't for her also. Hewould ask her. And Carmencita and her blind father, they could come, too. It would be horrible to have a Christmas dinner of sardines ortoasted cheese and crackers--or one in a boarding-house. Other peoplemight think it queer that he should have accidentally met Carmencita, and that Carmencita should have mentioned the name of Miss Barbour, and that he should have walked miles and miles--it must have beenthousands of miles--trying to find her, and, after all, did not findher. She found him. But it wasn't queer. He had been looking for herever since--for three years he had been looking for her, and what onelooks for long enough one always finds. To-morrow--to-morrow--would--be--Christmas eve. 

He opened his eyes slowly. The sun was blinding, and he blinked. Mother McNeil and the doctor were standing at the foot of the bed, and as he rubbed his eyes they laughed. 

"It's a merry Christmas you're to have, my son, after all, and it'swanting to be up and after it you are, if I'm a judge of looks. " AndVan Landing's hand, holding the coverlid close to his neck, was pattedunderstandingly by Mother McNeil. "Last night the doctor was a bitworried about your head--you took your time in coming to--but I didn'tbelieve it was as bad as he feared, and it's well it wasn't, for it'sa grand day in which to be living, and you'll need your head. Is itcoffee or tea, now, that you like best for breakfast? And an egg and abit of toast, doctor, I think will taste well. I'll get them. " Andwithout answer Mother McNeil was gone. 

The doctor sat down, felt his patient's pulse, took his temperature, investigated the cut on the forehead, then got up. "You're all right. "His tone was one of gruff relief. "One inch nearer your temple, however--You can get up if you wish. Good day. " And he, too, was gonebefore Van Landing could ask a question or say a word of thanks. 

It was bewildering, perplexing, embarrassing, and for a moment hehesitated. Then he got up. He was absurdly shaky, but his head wasclear, and in his heart humility that was new and sweet. The day wasgreat, and the sun was shining as on yesterday one would not havedreamed it could ever shine again. Going over to the door, he lockedit and hurriedly began to dress. His clothes had a rough, dryappearance that made them hardly recognizable, and to get on hisshoes, which evidently had been dried near the furnace, was difficult. In the small mirror over the bureau, as he tied his cravat, his facereflected varying emotions: disgust at his soiled collar, relief thathe was up again, and gratitude that made a certain cynicism, of latebecoming too well defined, fade into quiet purpose. 

Unlocking the door, he went back to the window and looked across atthe long row of houses, as alike as shriveled peas in a dry pod, anddown on the snow-covered streets. Brilliantly the sun touched here andthere a bit of cornice below a dazzling gleaming roof, and threw raysof rainbow light on window-pane and iron rail, outlined or hiddenunder frozen foam; and the dirt and ugliness of the usual day werelost in the white hush of mystery. 

Not for long would there be transforming effect of the storm, however. Already the snow was being shoveled from door-steps andsidewalks, and the laughter of the boys as they worked, the scrapingof their shovels, the rumble of wagon-wheels, which were making deepbrown ruts in the middle of the street, reached him with the muffledsound of something far away, and, watching, he missed no detail ofwhat was going on below. 

"Goodness gracious! I've almost cried myself to death! And she foundyou--found you!"

Van Landing turned sharply. The door was open, though he had not heardthe knock, and with a spring Carmencita was beside him, holding hishands and dancing as if demented with a joy no longer to be held inrestraint. 

"Oh, Mr. Van, I've almost died for fear I wouldn't find you in time!And you're here at Mother McNeil's, and all yesterday I looked andlooked, and I couldn't remember your last name, and neither couldFather. And Miss Frances was away until night, and I never prayed sohard and looked so hard in my life! Oh, Mr. Van, if you are astranger, I love you, and I'm so glad you're found!"

She stopped for breath, and Van Landing, stooping, lifted Carmencita'sface and kissed it. 

"You are my dear friend, Carmencita. " His voice, as his hands, was abit shaky. "I, too, am very glad--and grateful. Will you ask her tocome, ask her to let me see her? I cannot wait any longer. "

"You'll have to. " Carmencita's eyes were big and blue in suddenseriousness. "The Little Big Sisters have their tree to-night, andshe's got a million trillion things to do to-day, and she's gone out. She's awful glad you're better, though. I asked her, and she said shewas. And I asked her why she didn't marry you right straight away, orto-morrow if she didn't have time to-day, and--"

"You did what, Carmencita?"

"That. I asked her that. What's the use of wasting time? I told heryou'd like a wife for a Christmas gift very much, if she was the wife. Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you really and truly rather have her thananything else?"

Van Landing turned and looked out of the window. The child's eyes andearnest, eager face could not be met in the surge of hot blood whichswept over him, and his throat grew tight. All his theories and ideaswere becoming but confused upheaval in the manipulations of fate, orwhat you will, that were bringing strange things to pass, and he nolonger could think clearly or feel calmly. He must get away before hesaw Frances. 

"Wouldn't you, Mr. Van?"

In the voice beside him was shy entreaty and appeal, and, handsclasped behind her, Carmencita waited. 

"I would. " Van Landing made effort to smile, but in his eyes was nosmiling. Into them had come sudden purpose. "I shall ask her to marryme to-morrow. "

Arms extended to the limit of their length, Carmencita whirled roundand round the room, then, breathless, stopped and, taking VanLanding's hand, lifted it to her lips. 

"I kiss your hand, my lord, and bring you greetings from your faithfulsubjects! I read that in a book. I'll be the subject. Isn't it grandand magnificent and glorious?" She stopped. "She hasn't any newclothes. A lady can't get married without new clothes, can she? Andshe won't have time to get any on Christmas eve. Whether she'll do itor not, you'll have to make her, Mr. Van, or you'll lose her again. You've--got--to--just--make--her!"

Carmencita's long slender forefinger made a jab in Van Landing'sdirection, and her head nodded with each word uttered. But before hecould answer, Mother McNeil, with breakfast on a tray, was in the roomand Carmencita was out. 

Sitting down beside him, as he asked her to do, Van Landing told herhow it happened he was there, told her who he was. Miss Barbour wasunder her care. She had once been his promised wife. He was trying tofind her when he fell, or fainted, or whatever it was, that he mightask her again to marry him. Would she help him?

In puzzled uncertainty Mother McNeil had listened, fine little foldswrinkling her usually smooth forehead, and her keen eyes searching theface before her; then she got up. 

"I might have known it would end like this. Well, why not?" Hands onher hips, she smiled in the flushed face looking into hers. VanLanding had risen, and his hands, holding the back of his chair, twitched badly. "The way of love is the way of life. If she will marryyou--God bless you, I will say. It's women like Frances the work we'rein is needing. But it's women like her that men need, too. She's out, but she asked me to wish you a very happy Christmas. "

CHAPTER XIII

"A very happy Christmas!" Van Landing smiled. "How can I have itwithout--When can I see her, Mother McNeil?"

At the open door Mother McNeil turned. "She has some shopping to do. Yesterday two more families were turned over to us. Sometimes she getslunch at the Green Tea-pot on Samoset Street. She will be home atfour. The children come at eight, and the tree is to be dressed beforethey get here. " A noise made her look around. "Carmencita, --you areout of breath, child! It's never you will learn to walk, I'm fearing!"

Carmencita, who had run down the hall as one pursued, stopped, pulledup her stocking, and made effort to fasten it to its supporter. "Christmas in my legs, " she said. "Can't expect feet to walk onChristmas eve. I've got to tell him something, Mother McNeil. Willyou excuse me, please, if I tell him by himself?"

Coming inside the room, Carmencita pulled Van Landing close to her andclosed the door, and for half a minute paused for breath. 

"It was Her. It was Miss Barbour at the telephone, and she says I mustmeet her at the Green Tea-pot at two o'clock and have lunch with herand tell her about the Barlow babies and old Miss Parker and someothers who don't go to Charities for their Christmas--and she says Ican help buy the things. Glory! I'm glad I'm living!" She stopped. "Ididn't tell her a word about you, but--Have you got a watch?"

Van Landing looked at his watch, then put it back. "I have a watch, but no hat. I lost my hat last night chasing Noodles. It's nineo'clock. I'm going to the Green Tea-pot at two to take lunch also. Want to go with me?"

"I'm not going with you. You are going with me. " Carmencita madeeffort to look tall. "That's what I came to tell you. And you can askher there. I won't listen. I won't even look, and--"

Van Landing took up his overcoat, hesitated, and then put it on. "I'venever had a sure-enough Christmas, Carmencita. Why can't I get thosethings for the kiddies you spoke of, and save Miss Barbour thetrouble? She has so much to do, it isn't fair to put more on her. Then, too--"

"You can have her by yourself after we eat, can't you? Where can yougo?"

"I haven't thought yet. Where do you suppose? She ought to rest. "

"Rest!" Carmencita's voice was shrilly scornful. "Rest--on Christmaseve. Besides, there isn't a spot to do it in. Every one has bundles init. " Hands clasped, her forehead puckered in fine folds, then shelooked up. "Is--is it a nice house you live in? It's all right, isn'tit?"

"It is considered so. Why?"

"Because what's the use of waiting until to-morrow to get married? Ifshe'll have you you all could stop in that little church near theGreen Tea-pot and the man could marry you, and then she could go on upto your house and rest while you finished your Christmas things, andthen you could go for her and bring her down here to help fix theChristmas tree, and to-morrow you could have Christmas at home. Wouldn't it be grand?" Carmencita was on tiptoe, and again her armswere flung in the air. Poised as if for flight, her eyes were on theceiling. Her voice changed. "The roof of this house leaks. It ought tobe fixed. "

Van Landing opened the door. "Your plan is an excellent one, Carmencita. I like it immensely, but there's a chance that MissBarbour may not agree. Women have ways of their own in matters ofmarriage. I do not even know that she will marry me at all. "

"Then she's got mighty little sense, which isn't so, for she's got alot. She knows what she wants, all right, and if she likes you shelikes you, and if she don't, she don't, and she don't make out shedoes. Did--did you fuss?"

"We didn't fuss. " Van Landing smiled slightly. "We didn't agree aboutcertain things. "

"Good gracious! You don't want to marry an agree-er, do you? Mrs. Barlow's one. Everything her husband thinks, she thinks, too, andsometimes he can't stand her another minute. Where are you going now?"

"I'm going to telephone for a taxi-cab. Then I'm going home to changemy clothes and get a hat, and then I'm going to my office to lookafter some matters there; then I'm going with you to do someshopping, and then I'm going to the Green Tea-pot to meet MissBarbour. If you could go with me now it would save time. Can you go?"

"If I can tell Father first. Wait for me, will you?"

Around the corner Carmencita flew, and was back as the taxi-cabstopped at Mother McNeil's door. Getting in, she sat upright and shuther eyes. Van Landing was saying good-by and expressing properappreciation and mentally making notes of other forms of expression tobe made later; and as she waited her breath came in long, deliciousgasps through her half-parted lips. Presently she stooped over andpinched her legs. 

"My legs, " she said, "same ones. And my cheeks and my hair"--thelatter was pulled with vigor--"and my feet and my hands--all me, andin a taxi-cab going Christmas shopping and maybe to a marriage, and Ididn't know he was living last week! Father says I mustn't speak topeople I don't know, but how can you know them if you don't speak? Iwas born lucky, and I'm so glad I'm living that if I was a rooster I'dcrow. Oh, Mr. Van, are you ready?"

The next few hours to Carmencita were the coming true of dreams thathad long been denied, and from one thrill to another she passed in adelicious ecstasy which made pinching of some part of her bodycontinually necessary. While Van Landing dressed she waited in hislibrary, wandering in wide-eyed awe and on tiptoe from one part of theroom to the other, touching here and there with the tips of herfingers a book or picture or piece of furniture, and presently infront of a footstool she knelt down and closed her eyes. 

Quickly, however, she opened them and, with head on the side, lookedaround and listened. This wasn't a time to be seen. The silenceassuring, she again shut her eyes very tight and the palms of herhands, uplifted, were pressed together. 

"Please, dear God, I just want to thank you, " she began. "It's awfulsudden and unexpected having a day like this, and I don't guessto-morrow will be much, not a turkey Christmas or anything like that, but to-day is grand. I'd say more, but some one is coming. Amen. " Andwith a scramble she was on her feet, the stool behind her, as VanLanding came in the room. 

The ride to the office through crowded streets was breathlesslythrilling, and during it Carmencita did not speak. At the window ofthe taxi she pressed her face so closely that the glass hadcontinually to be wiped lest the cloud made by her breath prevent herseeing clearly; and, watching her, Van Landing smiled. What an odd, elfish, wistful little face it was--keen, alert, intelligent, itreflected every emotion that filled her, and her emotions were many. In her long, ill-fitting coat and straw hat, in the worn shoes anddarned gloves, she was a study that puzzled and perplexed, and atthought of her future he frowned. What became of them--these childrenwith little chance? Was it to try and learn and help that Frances wasliving in their midst?

In his office Herrick and Miss Davis were waiting. Work had beenpretty well cleared up, and there was little to be done, and as VanLanding saw them the memory of his half-waking, half-dreaming thoughtconcerning them came to him, and furtively he looked from one to theother. 

In a chair near the window, hands in her lap and feet on the rounds, Carmencita waited, her eyes missing no detail of the scene about her, and at Miss Davis, who came over to talk to her, she looked withfrank admiration. For a moment there was hesitating uncertainty in VanLanding's face; then he turned to Herrick. 

"Come into the next room, will you, Herrick? I want to speak to you aminute. "

What he was going to say he did not know. Herrick was such a steadyold chap, from him radiated such uncomplaining patience, about him wassuch aloofness concerning his private affairs, that to speak to him onpersonal matters was difficult. He handed him cigars and lighted onehimself. 

"I'm going to close the office, Herrick, until after New-Year, " hebegan. "I thought perhaps you might like to go away. "

"I would. " Herrick, whose cigar was unlighted, smiled slightly. "But Idon't think I'll go. "

"Why not?"

Herrick hesitated, and his face flushed. He was nearing forty, and hishair was already slightly gray. "There are several reasons, " he said, quietly. "Until I am able to be married I do not care to go away. Shewould be alone, and Christmas alone--"

"Is--is it Miss Davis, Herrick?" Van Landing's voice was strangelyshy; then he held out his hand. "You're a lucky man, Herrick. Icongratulate you. Why didn't you tell me before; and if you want toget married, why not? What's the use of waiting? The trip's on me. Christmas alone--I forgot to say I've intended for some time to raiseyour salary. You deserve it, and it was thoughtlessness that made meput it off. " He sat down at his desk and took his check-book out of aspring-locked drawer and wrote hastily upon it. "That may help tostart things, Herrick, and if there's any other way--"

In Herrick's astonished face the blood pumped deep and red, and as hetook the check Van Landing put in his hands his fingers twitchednervously. It was beyond belief that Van Landing should haveguessed--and the check! It would mean the furnishing of the littleflat they had looked at yesterday and hoped would stay unrented for afew months longer; meant a trip, and a little put aside to add totheir slow savings. Now that his sister was married and his brotherout of school, he could save more, but with this--He tried to speak, then turned away and walked over to the window. 

"Call her in, Herrick, and let's have it settled. Why not get thelicense to-day and be married to-morrow? Oh, Miss Davis!" He openedthe door and beckoned to his stenographer, who was showing Carmencitaher typewriter. "Come in, will you? Never mind. We'll come in there. "

CHAPTER XIV

Miss Davis, who had risen, stood with one hand on her desk; the otherwent to her lips. Something was the matter. What was it?

"I hope you won't mind Carmencita knowing. " Van Landing drew the childto him. "She is an admirable arranger and will like to help, I'm sure. Miss Davis and Mr. Herrick are going to be married to-morrow, Carmencita, and spend their holiday--wherever they choose. Why, MissDavis--why, you've never done like this before!"

Miss Davis was again in her chair, and, with arms on her desk and faceburied in them, her shoulders were making little twitchy movements. She was trying desperately hard to keep back something that mustn't beheard, and in a flash Carmencita was on her knees beside her. 

"Oh, Miss Davis, I don't know you much, but I'm so glad, and of courseit's awful exciting to get married without knowing you're going to doit; but you mustn't cry, Miss Davis--you mustn't, really!"

"I'm not crying. " Head up, the pretty brown eyes, wet and shining, looked first at Herrick and then at Van Landing, and a handkerchiefwiped two quivering lips. "I'm not crying, only--only it's so sudden, and to-morrow is Christmas, and a boarding-house Christmas--" Againthe flushed face was buried in her arms and tears came hot andfast--happy, blinding tears. 

Moving chairs around that were not in the way, going to the window andback again, locking up what did not require locking, putting on hishat and taking it off without knowing what he was doing, Van Landing, nevertheless, managed in an incredibly short time to accomplish a goodmany things and to make practical arrangements. Herrick and Miss Daviswere to come to his apartment at one o'clock to-morrow and bring theminister. They would be married at once and have dinner immediatelyafter with him--and with a friend or two, perhaps. Carmencita and herfather would also be there, and they could leave for a trip as soon asthey wished. They must hurry; there was no time to lose--not aminute. 

With a few words to the office-boy, the elevator-boy, the janitor, andadditional remembrances left with the latter for the charwoman, thewatchman, and several others not around, they were out in the streetand Carmencita again helped in the cab. 

For a moment there was dazed silence, then she turned to Van Landing. "Would you mind sticking this in me?" she asked, and handed him a bentpin. "Is--is it really sure-enough what we've been doing, or am Imaking up. Stick hard, please--real hard. "

Van Landing laughed. "No need for the pin. " He threw it away. "You'reawake, all right. I've been asleep a long time, and you--have wakedme, Carmencita. "

For two delicious hours the child led and Van Landing followed. In andout of stores they went with quickness and decision, and soon on theseat and on the floor of the cab boxes and bundles of many shapes andsizes were piled, and then Carmencita said there should be nothingelse. 

"It's awful wickedness, Mr. Van, to spend so much. " Her head noddedvigorously. "The children will go crazy, and so will their mothers, and they'll pop open if they eat some of all the things you've boughtfor them, and we mustn't get another one. It's been grand, but--You'renot drunk, are you, Mr. Van, and don't know what you're doing?"

Her voice trailed off anxiously, and in her eyes came sudden, soberfear. 

Again Van Landing laughed. "I think perhaps I am drunk, but not in theway you mean, Carmencita. It's a matter of spirits, however. Somethinghas gone to my head, or perhaps it's my heart. But I know very wellwhat I'm doing. There's one thing more. I forgot to tell you. I have alittle friend who has done a good deal for me. I want to get her apresent or two--some clothes and things that girls like. Your size, Ithink, would fit her. I'd like--"

"Is she rich or poor?"

Van Landing hesitated. "She is rich. She has a wonderful imaginationand can see all sorts of things that others don't see, and her friendsare--"

"Kings and queens, and fairies and imps, and ghosts and devils. Iknow. I've had friends like that. Does she like pink or blue?"

"I think she likes--blue. " Again Van Landing hesitated. Silks andsatins might be Carmencita's choice. Silks and satins would not do. "Idon't mean she has money, and I believe she'd rather have practicalthings. "

"No, she wouldn't! Girls hate practical things. " The long, loose, shabby coat was touched lightly. "This is practical. Couldn't she haveone pair of shiny slippers, just one, with buckles on them? Maybeshe's as Cinderellary as I am. I'd rather stick my foot out with adiamond-buckle slipper on it than eat. I do when my princess friendscall, and they always say: 'Oh, Carmencita, what a charming foot youhave!' And that's it. _That_!" And Carmencita's foot with it's coarseand half-worn shoe was held out at full length. "But we've got tohurry, or we won't be at the Green Tea-pot by two o'clock. Come on. "

With amazing discrimination Carmencita made her purchases, and onlyonce or twice did she overstep the limitations of practicality andinsist upon a present that could be of little use to its recipient. For the giving of joy the selection of a pair of shining slippers, ablue satin sash, and a string of amber beads were eminently suitable, however, and, watching, Van Landing saw her eyes gleam over theprecious possessions she was supposedly buying for some one else, achild of her own age, and he made no objection to the selections made. 

"Even if she don't wear them she will have them. " And Carmencita drewa long, deep sigh of satisfaction. "It's so nice to know you have gotsomething you can peep at every now and then. It's like eating whenyou're hungry. Oh, I do hope she'll like them! Is it two, Mr. Van?"

It was ten minutes to two, and, putting Carmencita into thebundle-packed cab, Van Landing ordered the latter to the GreenTea-pot, then, getting in, leaned back, took off his hat, and wipedhis forehead. Tension seemed suddenly to relax and his heart for amoment beat thickly; then with a jerk he sat upright. Carmencita wasagain absorbed in watching the crowds upon the streets, and, when thecab stopped, jumped as if awakened from a dream. 

"Are we here already? Oh, my goodness! There she is!"

Miss Barbour was going in the doorway, and as Van Landing saw thestraight, slender figure, caught the turn of the head, held in the waythat was hers alone, the years that were gone slipped out of memoryand she was his again. His--With a swift movement he was out of thecab and on the street and about to follow her when Carmencita touchedhim on the arm. 

"Let me go first. She doesn't know you're coming. We'll get a tablenear the door. "

The crowd separated them, but through it Carmencita wriggled her wayquickly and disappeared. Waiting, Van Landing saw her rush up to MissBarbour, then slip in a chair at a table whose occupants were leaving, and motion Frances to do the same. As the tired little waitress, aftertaking off the soiled cloth and putting on a fresh one, went away fornecessary equipment Van Landing opened the door and walked in and tothe table and held out his hand. 

"You would not let me thank you this morning. May I thank you nowfor--"

[Illustration: "YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY ITHANK YOU NOW FOR--"]

"Finding him?" Carmencita leaned halfway over the table, and her bigblue eyes looked anxiously at first one and then the other. "He waslooking for you, Miss Frances; he'd been looking all day and all nightbecause he'd just heard you were somewhere down here, and he's come tohave lunch with us, and--Oh, it's Christmas, Miss Frances, and pleasetell him--say something, do something! He's been waiting threeyears, and he can't wait another minute. Gracious! that smells good!"

The savory dish that passed caused a turn in Carmencita's head, andFrances Barbour, looking into the eyes that were looking into hers, held out her hand. At sight of Van Landing her face had coloredrichly, then the color had left it, leaving it white, and in her eyeswas that he had never seen before. 

"There is nothing for which to thank me. " Her voice with its freshnessand sweetness stirred as of old, but it was low. She smiled slightly. "I am very glad you are all right this morning. I did not know youknew our part of the town. " Her hand was laid on Carmencita's. 

"I didn't until I met your little friend. I had never been in itbefore. I know it now very well. "

"And he was so fighting mad because he couldn't see you when I sentthe note that he went out, not knowing where he was or how to getback, and when his senses came on again and he tried to find out hecouldn't find, and he walked 'most all night and was lost like peoplein a desert who go round and round. And the next day he walked allday long and 'most froze, and he'd passed Mother McNeil's house adozen times and didn't know it; and he was chasing Noodles and justleaning against that railing when the cop came and you came. Oh, MissFrances, it's Christmas! Won't you please make up and--When are wegoing to eat?"

Miss Barbour's hand closed over Carmencita's twisting ones, and intoher face again sprang color; then she laughed. "We are very hungry, Mr. Van Landing. Would you mind sitting down so we can have lunch?"

An hour later Carmencita leaned back in her chair, hands in her lapand eyes closed. Presently one hand went out. "Don't ask me anythingfor a minute, will you? I've got to think about something. When you'reready to go let me know. "

Through the meal Carmencita's flow of words and flow of spirits hadsaved the silences that fell, in spite of effort, between Van Landingand Miss Barbour, and under the quiet poise so characteristic of herhe had seen her breath come unsteadily. Could he make her care for himagain? With eyes no longer guarded he looked at her, leaned forward. 

"From here, " he said, "where are you going?"

"Home. I mean to Mother McNeil's. Carmencita says you and she havedone my shopping. " She smiled slightly and lifted a glass of water toher lips. "The tree is to be dressed this afternoon, and to-night thechildren come. "

"And I--when can I come?"

"You?" She glanced at Carmencita, who was now sitting with her chin onthe back of her chair, arms clasping the latter, watching the strangeand fascinating scene of people ordering what they wanted to eat andeating as much of it as they wanted. "I don't know. I am very busy. After Christmas, perhaps. "

"You mean for me there is to be no Christmas? Am I to be for ever keptoutside, Frances?"

"Outside?" She looked up and away. "I have no home. We areboth--outside. To have no home at Christmas is--" Quickly she got up. "We must go. It is getting late, and there is much to do. "

For one swift moment she let his eyes hold hers, and in his burned allthe hunger of the years of loss; then, taking up her muff, she wenttoward the door. On the street she hesitated, then held out her hand. "Good-by, Mr. Van Landing. I hope you will have a happy Christmas. "

"Do you?" Van Landing opened the cab door. "Get in, please. I willcome in another cab. " Stooping, he pushed aside some boxes and bundlesand made room for Carmencita. "I'll be around at four to help dressthe tree. Wait until I come. " He nodded to the cabman; then, liftinghis hat, he closed the door with a click and, turning, walked away. 

"Carmencita! oh, Carmencita!" Into the child's eyes the beautiful onesof her friend looked with sudden appeal, and the usually steady handsheld those of Carmencita with frightened force. "What have you done?What have you done?"

"Done?" Carmencita's fingers twisted into those of her beloved, andher laugh was joyous. "Done! Not much yet. I've just begun. Did--didyou know you were to have a grand Christmas present, Miss Frances? Youare. It's--it's alive!"

CHAPTER XV

The time intervening before his return to help with the tree was spentby Van Landing in a certain establishment where jewels were kept andin telephoning Peterkin; and the orders to Peterkin were many. At fouro'clock he was back at Mother McNeil's. 

In the double parlor of the old-fashioned house, once the home ofwealth and power, the tree was already in place, and around it, incrowded confusion, were boxes and barrels, and bundles and toys, andclothes and shoes, and articles of unknown name and purpose, and for amoment he hesitated. Hands in his pockets, he looked first at MotherMcNeil and then at a little lame boy on the floor beside an opentrunk, out of which he was taking gaily-colored ornaments anduntangling yards of tinsel; and then he looked at Frances, who, with abig apron over her black dress, with its soft white collar open at thethroat, was holding a pile of empty stockings in her hands. 

"You are just in time, my son. " Mother McNeil beamed warmly at theuninvited visitor. "When a man can be of service, it's let him serve, I say, and if you will get that step-ladder over there and fix thisangel on the top of the tree it will save time. Jenkins has gone formore tinsel and more bread. We didn't intend at first to havesandwiches and chocolate--just candy and nuts and things likethat--but it's so cold and snowy Frances thought something good andhot would taste well. You can slice the bread, Mr. Van Landing. Foursandwiches apiece for the boys and three for the girls are what weallow. " She looked around. "Hand him that angel, Frances, and show himwhere to put it. I've got to see about the cakes. "

Never having fastened an angel to the top of a tree, for a half-momentVan Landing was uncertain how to go about it, fearing exposure ofignorance and awkwardness; then with a quick movement he was up theladder and looking down at the girl who was handing him a huge paperdoll dressed in the garments supposedly worn by the dwellers ofmansions in the sky, and as he took it he laughed. 

"This is a very worldly-looking angel. She apparently enjoys theblowing of her trumpet. Stand off, will you, and see if that's right?"Van Landing fastened the doll firmly to the top of the tree. "Does sheshow well down there?"

It was perfectly natural that he should be here and helping. True, hehad never heard of Mother McNeil and her home until two nights before, never had dressed a Christmas tree before, or before gone where he wasnot asked, but things of that sort no longer mattered. What matteredwas that he had found Frances, that it was the Christmas season, andhe was at last learning the secret of its hold on human hearts andsympathies. There was no time to talk, but as he looked he watched, with eyes that missed no movement that she made, the fine, fair facethat to him was like no other on earth, and, watching, he wondered ifshe, too, wondered at the naturalness of it all. 

The years that had passed since he had seen her had left theirimprint. She had known great sorrow, also she had traveled much, and, though about her were the grace and courage of old, there wassomething else, something of nameless and compelling appeal, and heknew that she, too, knew the loneliness of life. 

Quickly they worked, and greater and greater grew the confusion ofthe continually appearing boxes and bundles, and, knee-deep, MotherMcNeil surveyed them, hands on her hips, and once or twice she brushedher eyes. 

"It's always the way, my son. If you trust people they will not failyou. When we learn how to understand there will be less hate and morehelp in the world. Jenkins, bring that barrel of apples and box oforanges over here and get a knife for Mr. Van Landing to cut the breadfor the sandwiches. It's time to make them. Matilda, call Abraham in. He can slice the ham and cheese. There must be plenty. Boys arehollow. Frances, have you seen my scissors?"

Out of what seemed hopeless confusion and chaotic jumbling, out ofexcited coming and going, and unanswered questions, and slamming ofdoors, and hurried searchings, order at last evolved, and, feelingvery much as if he'd been in a football match, Van Landing surveyedthe rooms with a sense of personal pride in their completeness. Aroundthe tree, placed between the two front windows, were piled countlesspackages, each marked, and from the mantelpiece hung a row of bulgingstockings, reinforced by huge mounds of the same on the floor, guarded already by old Fetch-It. Holly and cedar gave color andfragrance, and at the uncurtained windows wreaths, hung by crimsonribbons, sent a welcome to the waiting crowd outside. 

If he were not here he would be alone, with nothing to do. AndChristmas eve alone! He drew in his breath and looked at Frances. Inher face was warm, rich color, and her eyes were gay and bright, butshe was tired. She would deny it if asked. He did not have to ask. Ifonly he could take her away and let her rest!

She was going up-stairs to change her dress. Half-way up the steps hecalled her, and, leaning against the rail of the banisters, he lookedup at her. 

"When you come down I must see you, Frances--and alone. I shall waithere for you. "

"I cannot see you alone. There will be no time. "

"Then we must make time. I tell you I must see you. " Something in hereyes made him hesitate. He must try another way. "Listen, Frances. Iwant you to do me a favor. There's a young girl in my office, mystenographer, who is to be married to-morrow to my head clerk. She isfrom a little town very far from here and has no relatives, nointimate friends near enough to go to. She lives in a boarding-house, and she can't afford to go home to be married. I have asked Herrick tobring her to my apartment to-morrow and marry her there. I would likeher to have--Carmencita and her father are coming, and I want you tocome, too. It would make things nicer for her. Will you come--you andMother McNeil?"

Over the banisters the beautiful eyes looked down into Van Landing's. Out of them had gone guarding. In them was that which sent the bloodin hot surge through his heart. "I would love to come, but I am goingout of town to-morrow--going--"

"Home?" In Van Landing's voice was unconcealed dismay. The glow ofChristmas, new and warm and sweet, died sharply, leaving him cold andfull of fear. "Are you going home?"

She shook her head. "I have no home. That is why I am going awayto-morrow. Mother McNeil will have her family here, and I'd be--I'd bean outsider. It's everybody's home day--and when you haven't a home--"

She turned and went a few steps farther on to where the stairscurved, then suddenly she sat down and crumpled up and turned her faceto the wall. With leaps that took the steps two at a time Van Landingwas beside her. 

"Frances!" he said, "Frances!" and in his arms he held her close. "You've found out, too! Thank God, you've found out, too!"

Below, a door opened and some one was in the hall. Quickly Frances wason her feet. "You must not, must not, Stephen--not here!"

"Goodness gracious! they've done made up. "

At the foot of the steps Carmencita, as if paralyzed with delight, stood for a moment, then, shutting tight her eyes, ran back whence shecame; at the door she stopped. 

"Carmencita! Carmencita!" It was Van Landing's voice. She turned herhead. "Come here, Carmencita. I have something to tell you. "

Eyes awed and shining, Carmencita came slowly up the steps. Reachingthem, with a spring she threw her arms around her dear friend's neckand kissed her lips again and again and again, then held out her handsto the man beside her. "Is--is it to be to-morrow, Mr. Van?"

"It is to be to-morrow, Carmencita. "

For a half-moment there was quivering silence; then Van Landing spokeagain. "There are some things I must attend to to-night. Earlyto-morrow I will come for you, Frances, and in Dr. Pierson's church wewill be married. Herrick and Miss Davis are coming at one o'clock, andmy--wife must be there to receive them. And you, too, Carmencita--youand your father. We are going to have--" Van Landing's voice wasunsteady. "We are going to have Christmas at home, Frances. Christmasat home!"

CHAPTER XVI

Lifting herself on her elbow, Carmencita listened. There was no soundsave the ticking of the little clock on the mantel. For a moment shewaited, then with a swift movement of her hand threw back the coveringon the cot, slipped from it, and stood, barefooted, in her nightgown, in the middle of the floor. Head on the side, one hand to her mouth, the other outstretched as if for silence from some one unseen, sheraised herself on tiptoe and softly, lightly, crossed the room to thedoor opening into the smaller room wherein her father slept. Hand onthe knob, she listened, and, the soft breathing assuring her he wasasleep, she closed the door, gave a deep sigh of satisfaction, andhurried back to the cot, close to which she sat down, put on herstockings, and tied on her feet a pair of worn woolen slippers, oncethe property of her prudent and practical friend, Miss Cattie Burns. Slipping on her big coat over her gown, she tiptoed to the mantel, lighted the candle upon it, and looked at the clock. 

"Half past twelve, " she said, "and Father's stocking not filled yet!"

As she got down from the chair on which she had stood to see the hourher foot caught in the ripped hem of her coat. She tripped, and wouldhave fallen had she not steadied herself against the table close tothe stove, and as she did so she laughed under her breath. 

"Really this kimono is much too long. " She looked down on the loosenedhem. "And I oughtn't to wear my best accordion-pleated pale-blue crepede Chine and shadow lace when I am so busy. But dark-gray things areso unbecoming, and, besides, I may have a good deal of companyto-night. The King of Love and the Queen of Hearts may drop in, and Iwouldn't have time to change. Miss Lucrecia Beck says I'm going towrite a book when I'm big, I'm so fond of making up and oflove-things. She don't know I've written one already. If he hadn'thappened to be standing on that corner looking so--so--I don't knowwhat, exactly, but so something I couldn't help running down andasking him to come up--I never would have had the day I've had to-dayand am going to have to-morrow. "

Stooping, she pinned the hem of her coat carefully, then, stretchingout her arms, stood on her tiptoes and spun noiselessly round andround. "Can't help it!" she said, as if to some one who objected. "I'mso glad I'm living, so glad I spoke to him, and know him, that I'mbound to let it out. Father says I mustn't speak to strangers; but I'dhave to be dead not to talk, and I didn't think about his being a man. He looked so lonely. "

With quick movements a big gingham apron was tied over the bulky coat, and, putting the candle on the table in the middle of the room, Carmencita began to move swiftly from cot to cupboard, from chairs tobook-shelves, and from behind and under each bundles and boxes ofvarying sizes were brought forth and arrayed in rows on the littletable near the stove. As the pile grew bigger so did her eyes, and inher cheeks, usually without color, two spots burned deep and red. Presently she stood off and surveyed her work and, hands claspedbehind, began to count, her head nodding with each number. 

"Thirteen big ones and nineteen little ones, " she said, "and I don'tknow a thing that's in one of them. Gracious! this is a nice world tolive in! I wonder what makes people so good to me? Mrs. Robinskybrought up those six biggest ones to-night. " Lightly her finger waslaid on each. "She said they were left with her to be sent upto-morrow morning, but there wouldn't be a thing to send if shewaited, as the children kept pinching and poking so to see what was inthem. I'd like to punch myself. Noodles gave me that. " Her head noddedat a queer-shaped package wrapped in brown paper and tied with greencord. "He paid nineteen cents for it. He told me so. I didn't pay butfive for what I gave him. He won't brush his teeth or clean hisfinger-nails, and I told him I wasn't going to give him a thing if hedidn't, but I haven't a bit of hold-out-ness at Christmas. I wonderwhat's in that?"

Cautiously her hand was laid on a box wrapped in white tissue-paperand tied with red ribbons. "I'll hate to open it and see, it looks solovely and Christmasy, but if I don't see soon I'll die from wantingto know. It rattled a little when I put it on the table. It's MissFrances's present, and I know it isn't practical. She's like I am. Shedon't think Christmas is for plain and useful things. She thinks it'sfor pleasure and pretty ones. I wonder--" Her hands were pressed toher breast, and on tiptoes she leaned quiveringly toward the table. "Iwonder if it could be a new tambourine with silver bells on it! If itis I'll die for joy, I'll be so glad! I broke mine to-night. I shookit so hard when I was dancing after I got home from the treethat--Good gracious! I've caught my foot again! These diamond buckleson my satin slippers are always catching the chiffon ruffles on mypetticoats. I oughtn't to wear my best things when I'm busy, but Ican't stand ugly ones, even to work in. Mercy! it's one o'clock, andthe things for Father's stocking aren't out yet. "

Out of the bottom drawer of the old-fashioned chest at the end of theroom a box was taken and laid on the floor near the stove, into whicha small stick of wood was put noiselessly, and carefully Carmencitasat down beside it. Taking off the top of the box, she lifted first alarge-size stocking and held it up. 

"I wish I was one hundred children's mother at Christmas and had ahundred stockings to fill! I mean, if I had things to fill them with. But as I'm not a mother, just a daughter, I'm thankful glad I've gota father to fill a stocking for. He's the only child I've got. If hecould just see how beautiful and red this apple is, and how yellowthis orange, and what a darling little candy harp _this_ is, I'd bethankfuler still. But he won't ever see. The doctor said so--said Imust be his eyes. "

One by one the articles were taken out of the box and laid on thefloor; and carefully, critically, each was examined. 

"This cravat is an awful color. " Carmencita's voice made an effort tobe polite and failed. "Mr. Robinsky bought it for father himself andasked me to put it in his stocking, but I hate to put. I'll have to doit, of course, and father won't know the colors, but what on earthmade him get a green-and-red plaid? Now listen at me! I'm doing justwhat Miss Lucrecia does to everything that's sent her. The onlypleasure she gets out of her presents is making fun of them andsnapping at the people who send them. She's an awful snapper. TheDamanarkist sent these cigars. They smell good. He don't believe inChristmas, but he sent Father and me both a present. I hope he'll likethe picture-frame I made for his mother's picture. His mother's dead, but he believed in her. She was the only thing he did believe in. Aman who don't believe in his mother--Oh, _my_ precious mother!"

With a trembling movement the little locket was taken from the box andopened and the picture in it kissed passionately; then, withoutwarning, the child crumpled up and hot tears fell fast over thequivering face. "I do want you, my mother! Everybody wants a mother atChristmas, and I haven't had one since I was seven. Father tries tofill my stocking, but it isn't a mother-stocking, and I just ache andache to--to have one like you'd fix. I want--" The words cametremblingly, and presently she sat up. 

"Carmencita Bell, you are a baby. Behave--your--self!" With the end ofthe gingham apron the big blue eyes were wiped. "You can't do much inthis world, but you can keep from crying. Suppose Father was to know. "Her back straightened and her head went up. "Father isn't ever goingto know, and if I don't fill this stocking it won't be hanging on theend of the mantelpiece when he wakes up. The locket must go in thetoe. "

CHAPTER XVII

In half an hour the stocking, big and bulging, was hung in itsaccustomed place, the packages for her father put on a chair bythemselves, and those for her left on the table, and as she rearrangedthe latter something about the largest one arrested her attention, and, stopping, she gazed at it with eyes puzzled and uncertain. 

It looked--Cautiously her fingers were laid upon it. Undoubtedly itlooked like the box in which had been put the beautiful dark-blue coatshe had bought for the little friend of her friend. And that other boxwas the size of the one the two dresses had been put in; and that wasa hat-box, and that a shoe-box, and the sash and beads and gloves andribbons, all the little things, had been put in a box that size. Everydrop of blood surged hotly, tremblingly, and with eyes staring andlips half parted her breath came unsteadily. 

In the confusion of their coming she had not noticed when Mrs. Robinsky had brought them up and put them under the cot, with theinjunction that they were not to be opened until the morning, and forthe first time their familiarity was dawning on her. Could itbe--could _she_ be the little friend he had said was rich? She wasn'trich. He didn't mean money-rich, but she wasn't any kind of rich; andshe had been so piggy. 

Hot color swept over her face, and her hands twitched. She had toldhim again and again she was getting too much, but he had insisted onher buying more, and made her tell him what little girls liked, untilshe would tell nothing more. And they had all been for her. For her, Carmencita Bell, who had never heard of him three days before. 

In the shock of revelation, the amazement of discovery, the littlefigure at the table stood rigid and upright, then it relaxed and witha stifled sob Carmencita crossed the room and, by the side of her cot, twisted herself into a little knot and buried her face in her arms andher arms in the covering. 

"I didn't believe! I didn't believe!"

Over and over the words came tremblingly. "I prayed and prayed, but Ididn't believe! He let it happen, and I didn't believe!"

For some moments there were queer movements of twitching hands andtwisting feet by the side of the cot, but after a while atear-stained, awed, and shy-illumined face looked up from the arms inwhich it had been hidden and ten slender fingers intertwined aroundthe knees of a hunched-up little body, which on the floor drew itselfcloser to the fire. 

It was a wonderful world, this world in which she lived. Carmencita'seyes were looking toward the window, through which she could see theshining stars. Wonderful things happened in it, and quite beyondexplaining were these things, and there was no use trying tounderstand. Two days ago she was just a little girl who lived in aplace she hated and was too young to go to work, and who had a blindfather and no rich friends or relations, and there was nothing nicethat could happen just so. 

"But things don't happen just so. They happen--don't anybody know how, I guess. " Carmencita nodded at the stars. "I've prayed a good manytimes before and nothing happened, and I don't know why all thisbeautifulness should have come to me, and Mrs. Beckwith, who is goodas gold, though a poor manager with babies, shouldn't ever have anyluck. I don't understand, but I'm awful thankful. I wish I could letGod know, and the Christ-child know, how thankful I am. Maybe the waythey'd like me to tell is by doing something nice for somebody else. Iknow. I'll ask Miss Parker to supper Christmas night. She's an awfulpoky person and needs new teeth, but she says she's so sick of mendingpants, she wishes some days she was dead. And I'll ask theDamanarkist. He hasn't anywhere to go, and he hates rich people soit's ruined his stomach. Hate is an awful ruiner. "

For some moments longer Carmencita sat in huddled silence, thenpresently she spoke again. 

"I didn't intend to give Miss Cattie Burns anything. I've tried tolike Miss Cattie and I can't. But it was very good in her to send us aquarter of a cord of wood for a Christmas present. She can't helpbeing practical. I'll take her that red geranium to-morrow. I raisedit from a slip, and I hate to see it go, but it's all I've got togive. It will have to go. 

"And to-morrow. I mean to-day--this is Christmas day! Oh, a happyChristmas, everybody!" Carmencita's arms swung out, then circledswiftly back to her heart. "For everybody in all the world I'd make ithappy if I could! And I'm going to a wedding to-day--a wedding! Idon't wonder you're thrilly, Carmencita Bell!"

For a half-moment breath came quiveringly from the parted lips, thenagain at the window and the stars beyond the little head nodded. 

"But I'll never wonder at things happening any more. I'll just wonderat there being so many nice people on this earth. All are not nice. The Damanarkist says there is a lot of rot in them, a lot of meannessand cheatingness, and nasty people who don't want other people to dowell or to get in their way; but there's bound to be more nicenessthan nastiness, or the world couldn't go on. It couldn't without a lotof love. It takes a lot of love to stand life. I read that in a book. Maybe that's why we have Christmas--why the Christ-child came. "

Shyly the curly head was bent on the upraised knees, and the palms oftwo little hands were uplifted. "O God, all I've got to give is love. Help me never to forget, and put a lot in my heart so I'll alwayshave it ready. And I thank You and thank You for letting such grandthings happen. I didn't dream there'd really be a marriage when Iasked You please to let it be if you could manage it; but there'sgoing to be two, and I'm going to both. I've got a new dress to wear, and slippers with buckles, and amber beads, and lots of other things. And most of all I thank You for Mr. Van and Miss Frances finding eachother. And please don't let them ever lose each other again. Theymight, even if they are married, if they don't take care. Please helpthem to take care, for Christ's sake. Amen. "

 * * * * *

On her feet, Carmencita patted the stocking hanging from the mantel, took off the big coat, kicked the large, loose slippers across theroom, blew out the candle, and stood for a moment poised on the tip ofher toes. 

"If I could"--the words came breathlessly--"if I could I'd dance likethe lady I was named for, but it might wake Father. I mustn't wakeFather. Good night, everybody--and a merry Christmas to all this nice, big world!"

With a spring that carried her across the room Carmencita was on hercot and beneath its covering, which she drew up to her face. Underher breath she laughed joyously, and her arms were hugged to herheart. 

"To-morrow--I mean to-day--I am going to tell them. They don'tunderstand yet. They think it was just an accident. " She shook herhead. "It wasn't an accident. After they're married I'm going to tellthem. Tell them how it happened. "

THE END