and withdrew.

The Doctor bent his head again over his accounts. The tramp,
sitting in the doorway, reached out his hand, pulled a young wheat-
stalk that had sprung up near the doorstep, and slowly nibbled it.
He did not raise his eyes to the Doctor, but sat, a familiar
culprit awaiting sentence, without fear, without hope, yet not
without a certain philosophical endurance of the situation.

"Go into that passage," said the Doctor, lifting his head as he
turned a page of his ledger, "and on the shelf you'll find some
clothing stores for the men. Pick out something to fit you."

The tramp arose, moved towards the passage, and stopped. "It's for
the job only, you understand?" he said.

"For the job," answered the Doctor.

The tramp returned in a few moments with overalls and woolen shirt
hanging on his arm and a pair of boots and socks in his hand. The
Doctor had put aside his pen. "Now go into that room and change.
Stop! First wash the dust from your feet in that bath-room."

The tramp obeyed, and entered the room. The Doctor walked to the
door, and looked out reflectively on the paling sky. When he
turned again he noticed that the door of the bath-room was opened,
and the tramp, who had changed his clothes by the fading light, was
drying his feet. The Doctor approached, and stood for a moment
watching him.