stentorian Irish summons from the rear, she felt a rather surprising
degree of regret. The momentary contact had given her a pleasant sense
of companionship; for the first time it came to her that it would be
better to have a sharer of this day of days--no hireling, no
scientific-eyed caretaker, but a little child or a friend, some one,
any one, whom she liked and who liked her, and who, like the little
boy, did not know the truth about her.

Her spirits dropped as suddenly as they had risen, and she felt tired
and disappointed. Almost unconsciously she dropped on a bench to rest,
her eyes still following the figure of the child, now almost out of
sight around a distant bend. The bench was off the path, and she had
been too preoccupied when she sat down to notice that it had another
occupant; but as the figure of her little friend vanished and she
turned her eyes away with a sigh, she found herself looking into those
of a man. He was very young, hardly more than a boy, and he occupied
the far end of the seat, one arm thrown across the back of it, his
knees crossed, and his body so turned that he faced her. The thing she
saw in his eyes held her own fastened to them, at first in surprise,
then in sudden comprehension. It was hunger. With a long look she took
him in--the pinched pallor of his smooth, handsome young face, the
feverish brightness of his gray eyes, the shabbiness of his well-made,
well-fitting clothes, even the rent in the side of one of his patent-
leather shoes. His linen was clean, and his cuffs were fastened with
cheap black links; she reflected instinctively that he had pawned
those whose place they obviously filled, and then her mind returned at
once to her first discovery, that he was hungry. There was no
mistaking it. She had never seen hunger in a face before, but she
recognized it now. He had taken off his hat and dropped it on the
bench beside him. His brown hair was short and wavy, and one lock on