the serene indifference of the Past in his passionless eyes upon our
wordy counsels. In the midst of an exciting discussion the door opened
again and Miggles reentered.

But not, apparently, the same Miggles who a few hours before had
flashed upon us. Her eyes were downcast, and as she hesitated for a
moment on the threshold, with a blanket on her arm, she seemed to have
left behind her the frank fearlessness which had charmed us a moment
before. Coming into the room, she drew a low stool beside the
paralytic's chair, sat down, drew the blanket over her shoulders, and
saying, "If it's all the same to you, boys, as we're rather crowded,
I'll stop here to-night, "took the invalid's withered hand in her
own, and turned her eyes upon the dying fire. An instinctive feeling
that this was only premonitory to more confidential relations, and
perhaps some shame at our previous curiosity, kept us silent. The rain
still heat upon the roof, wandering gusts of wind stirred the embers
into momentary brightness, until, in a lull of the elements, Miggles
suddenly lifted up her head, and, throwing her hair over her shoulder,
turned her face upon the group and asked,--

"Is there any of you that knows me?"

There was no reply.

"Think again! I lived at Marysville in '53. Everybody knew me there,
and everybody had the right to know me. I kept the Polka Saloon until
I came to live with Jim. That's six years ago. Perhaps I've changed
some."

The absence of recognition may have disconcerted her. She turned her