She looked down at him--he was sitting on a stool before the fire near
her feet--and laughed with a catching of the breath. "Oh, yes, yes;
I'm happy."

And Sara caught his breath too, for there were tears in her eyes.

But instantly she veered away from personalities. "What is that scar
on your wrist?"

Sam looked down at his hands clasped about his knees, and blushed
faintly. "Oh, nothing; I was very young when that happened."

"How did it happen?" she asked absently. It was often possible to
start Sam talking and then think her own thoughts without
interruption.

"Why, I was about twelve, I believe," Sam said, "and Miss Ellen
Bailey--she used to teach school here, then she got married and went
out West;--she gave me a little gold image of Pasht, at least I
thought it was gold. It was one of those things you ladies wear on
your watch-chains, you know,"

"Yes?" she said indolently.

"Well, I took a tremendous fancy to it. But it seems it wasn't gold,
it was brass, and somebody told me so; I think it was Miss Ellen
herself. I was so disappointed, I didn't want to live--queer! I can
remember now just how I felt; a sort of sinking, here;" Sam laid his
hand on his breast, "So I decided to throw myself out of the window. I