the arms of it.

"Brother Abe," she called quaveringly after the couple, "I guess yew
kin afford ter fix up any objections o' the directors."

Angy pressed her husband's arm as she joined him in the upper hall.

"Don't yer see, Abe. They don't realize that that poor old gentleman,
whoever he may be, won't be yew. They jest know that _yew_ was _yew_;
an' they want ter git another jest as near like yew as they kin."

Abe grunted, yet nevertheless went half-way down-stairs again to call
more graciously to the sisters that he would give them a reference any
time for knowing how to treat a man just right.

"That feller'll be lucky, gals," he added in tremulous tones. "I hope
he'll appreciate yew as I allers done."

Then Abe went to join Angy in the room which the sisters had given to
him that bitter day when the cry of his heart had been very like unto:

"_Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani_!"

After all, what was there of his and Angy's here? Their garments they
did not need now. They would leave them behind for the other old couple
that was to come. There was nothing else but some simple gifts. He took
up a pair of red wristlets that Mrs. Homan had knit, and tucked them in
his new overcoat pocket. He also took Abigail's bottle of "Jockey Club"
which he had despised so a few days ago, and tucked that in his
watch-pocket. When he bought himself a watch, he would buy a new clock