voice; "you have got nothing to do all day, and you live alone, except
for your housekeeper."

Mr. Barrett assented with some eagerness, and stole a hopeful glance at
her.

"You--you miss something," continued Miss. Lindsay, in a faltering
voice.

"I do," said Mr. Barrett, with ardour.

"You miss"--the girl made an effort--"you miss the footsteps and voices
of your little children."

Mr. Barrett stopped suddenly in the street, and then, with a jerk, went
blindly on.

"I've never spoken of it before because it's your business, not mine,"
continued the girl. I wouldn't have spoken now, but when you referred to
your loneliness I thought perhaps you didn't realize the cause of it."

Mr. Barrett walked on in silent misery.

"Poor little motherless things!" said Miss Lindsay, softly. "Motherless
and--fatherless."

"Better for them," said Mr. Barrett, finding his voice at last.

"It almost looks like it," said Miss Lindsay, with a sigh.