been standing there he didn't know. He swung around in sudden uneasiness
and examined the room carefully. Then he gave a deep sigh of relief. It
was all right this time; this was his own house! He sank into the green
rocker and mechanically began to fill his pipe. From the floor above
came the swish of the broom and Zephania's voice raised in joyful song:

"'I was a wand'ring sheep, I did not love the fold;
I did not love my Shepherd's voice, I would not be controlled.
I was a wayward child, I did not love my home;
I did not love my Father's voice, I loved afar to roam.'"

Wade lighted his pipe, and when he had filled the adjacent atmosphere
with blue smoke he groaned. After that he gazed for a long time at his
hands, turning them this way and that as though he had never really
noticed them before. Then he laughed shortly a laugh seemingly quite
devoid of amusement, and got up to wander aimlessly about the room. At
last he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and walked over to it,
and glared fiercely at the reflection for a full round minute. Twice he
opened his mouth, only to close it again without a sound. At length,
however, the right words came to him. He looked himself witheringly in
the eyes.

"You blundering, God-forsaken ass!" he enunciated.

That seemed to cheer him up quite a bit, for he turned away from the
mirror with a less hopeless expression on his face and began to unpack
his valise and distribute the contents about the room. Later he borrowed
some of Zephania's hot water from the singing kettle and shaved himself.
No matter to what depths of degradation a man may fall, shaving
invariably raises him again to a fair level of self-respect. He ate