sunshine of the August afternoon, and a great droning blue fly
buzzed upon the pane.

Teddy noted every sound; watched the motes dancing in the sunshine,
the fly bouncing up and down the little window, the movements of the
cat, who, rising from her nap, stretched every limb separately,
yawned, lazily lapped at her saucer of milk, and then, seating
herself in the patch of lurid sunshine, with her tail curled round
her fore-paws, blinked drowsily for a few minutes, and then dozed
off again.

But, whether he listened or whether he looked, it was but ear and
eye that noted these familiar and homely sounds or sights. The mind
still journeyed on and on in that weary journey without beginning or
end; that dull, heavy tramp through black night, with no hope of
ever reaching morning; that vain flight from a pain not for one
moment to be forgotten or left behind; that numb consciousness of an
evil, that, wait as we will, must sooner or later be met and
recognized.

A long hour passed, and Mrs. Ginniss suddenly arose and confronted
her son.

"If iver I larnt ye any thin', ye black-hearted b'y, what wor it?"

Teddy raised his heavy eyes to his mother's face, but made no
answer.

"Worn't it to search iver an' always for the chance to do a good
turn to him as has done all for 'yees that yer own father could, an'