"Good-by, sir. I'm sorry I let you know that--that I knew."

Leighton did not look up.

"Good-by, Lewis," he said quietly.

Lewis hurried to his little room. He took out all his boyish treasures
and laid them on the bed. How silly they looked, how childish! He swept
them away, and spread a large red handkerchief in their place. He heard
Natalie come in and call for him, but he did not answer. In the
handkerchief he packed his scanty wardrobe. As he knotted the corners
together he heard Mrs. Leighton and mammy chatting lightly with Natalie,
helping her to dress.

Lewis, heavy-hearted, looked about his ugly little room, so bare, but as
friendly as a plain face endeared by years of kindness. From among his
discarded treasures he chose the model in clay of a kid, jumping, the
best he had ever made. He tucked it into his bundle; then he picked up
the bundle, and walked out into the great room, kitchen, sitting and
dining room combined.

Mrs. Leighton and mammy were seated at the table. Beside them stood
Natalie. They turned and looked at Lewis, surprised. Lewis stared at
Natalie. She wore a dress he had seen but twice before and then on great
occasions. It had been a birthday present from her parents. It was a
red, pleated dress. Accordion silk, the women called it.

About Natalie's shoulders was a white, filmy scarf. For the first time
in her life her hair was loosely piled upon her head. Through it and
over it ran a bright ribbon. The gloss of the satin ribbon was as naught