even a picture paper for Sallie! Mart was sharp-tongued; all her life
had taught her to be so. She spoke sharp words out of the bitterness of
her heart at Dirk, and of late rarely anything but sharp words, yet--and
this was Mart's secret, hidden away as if it were something of which to
be ashamed--she _loved_ Dirk, loved him fiercely, with all the
pent-up wealth of her young heart; and often, _because_ she loved
him, she was harsh and bitter towards him, though she did not herself
understand why this should be.

As for Dirk, he walked rapidly but for a few blocks; his dinner had been
too insufficient to give him strength, after the first aimless anger had
subsided. Then came the question what to do with himself. Why hadn't he
gone with the fellows? More than likely some of them had contrived a way
to get a dinner. Why had he persisted in sullenly leaving them all and
going home?

He had not the least idea why he had been impelled to go home. Now that
he was fairly away from home again, he had no idea what to do with
himself. A place where he could warm his feet and his hands, where he
could get a bite to eat, possibly,--this last would be an immense
attraction, but was not a necessity, and he did not expect it,--but
warmth, at least, he felt that he must have. Where would he find it?
What place had been provided for such as he? He ought by this time to
have been earning his own living, to have had a corner which he could
call home, earned by himself, where some of the decencies of life were
gathered. Of course he ought; but the painful fact to meet just now, was
that he had not done his duty. He had gone astray; not so far but that
there were plenty of chances to go farther, greater deeps to which he
might yet reach, but far enough to all but break any watchful mother's
heart; only that _his_ mother's heart was broken before he was