fishing village in Normandy. I--I shall have to get some work."

"Say!" It was an ejaculation of pity, but there was a note of triumph in
it, too; perhaps the joy of the gratified philanthropist.

"Now, look-a-here, little girl, the price of that picture will just about
cover your expenses, eh?--board and--er--funeral?"

Sheila nodded, her throat working, her lids pressing down tears.

"Well, now, look-a-here. I've got a missus at home."

Sheila looked up and the tears fell. She brushed them from her cheeks.
"A missus?"

"Yes'm--my wife. And a couple of gels about your age. Well, say, we've
got a job for you."

Sheila put her hand to her head as though she would stop a whirling
sensation there.

"You mean you have some work for me in your home?"

"You've got it first time. Yes, _ma'am_. Sure thing. At Millings, finest
city in the world. After you're through here, you pack up your duds and
you come West with me. Make a fresh start, eh? Why, it'll make me plumb
cheerful to have a gel with me on that journey ... seem like I'd Girlie
or Babe along. They just cried to come, but, say, Noo York's no place for
the young."