picture of him under the lamplight, she was rewarded, she was content;
while he ate his plain food, out of her misfortunes she had beautifully
nourished his mind. He did not know this; but she knew it, knew by his
look and by his only comment:

"You had a perfectly splendid time, didn't you?"

She laughed to herself.

"Now, then," she said, coming to what had all along been most in her
consciousness--"now, then, tell me about _your_ day. Begin at the moment
_you_ left _me_."

He laid down his napkin,--he could eat no more, and there was nothing
more to eat,--and he folded his hands quite like the head of the house
at ease after a careless feast, and began his story.

Well, he had had a splendid day, too. After he had left her he had gone
to the dealer's on the avenue with the unsold papers. Then he had
crossed over to the cathedral, and for a while had watched the men at
work up in the air. He had walked around to the choir school, but no one
was there that morning, not a sound came from the inside. Then he had
started down across the park. As he sat down to count his money, a man
who had climbed up the hillside stopped and asked him a great many
questions: who taught him music and whether any one had ever heard him
sing. This stranger also liked music and he also went to the cathedral,
so he claimed. From that point the story wound its way onward across the
busy hours till nightfall.

It was a child's story, not an older person's. Therefore it did not draw