watched them eating, and decided that they ate like pigs. Well, he would
be careful here. He would make no noise. He would keep his mind upon it
all the time.

He glanced around the table. Opposite him was Arthur, and Arthur's
brother, Norman. They were her brothers, he reminded himself, and his
heart warmed toward them. How they loved each other, the members of this
family! There flashed into his mind the picture of her mother, of the
kiss of greeting, and of the pair of them walking toward him with arms
entwined. Not in his world were such displays of affection between
parents and children made. It was a revelation of the heights of
existence that were attained in the world above. It was the finest thing
yet that he had seen in this small glimpse of that world. He was moved
deeply by appreciation of it, and his heart was melting with sympathetic
tenderness. He had starved for love all his life. His nature craved
love. It was an organic demand of his being. Yet he had gone without,
and hardened himself in the process. He had not known that he needed
love. Nor did he know it now. He merely saw it in operation, and
thrilled to it, and thought it fine, and high, and splendid.

He was glad that Mr. Morse was not there. It was difficult enough
getting acquainted with her, and her mother, and her brother, Norman.
Arthur he already knew somewhat. The father would have been too much for
him, he felt sure. It seemed to him that he had never worked so hard in
his life. The severest toil was child's play compared with this. Tiny
nodules of moisture stood out on his forehead, and his shirt was wet with
sweat from the exertion of doing so many unaccustomed things at once. He
had to eat as he had never eaten before, to handle strange tools, to
glance surreptitiously about and learn how to accomplish each new thing,
to receive the flood of impressions that was pouring in upon him and