take you back to the cathedral, Mrs. Clarke, until we decide what's got
to be done."

"I am going to take him home," said Mrs. Clarke, wildly. "He shall have
every comfort and luxury I can give him. Poor Father, don't you want to
come home with Elise?"

"I live at Number One, Calvary Alley," said Mr. Demry, clinging to the
one fact he had trained his mind to remember. "If you will kindly get me
to the corner, the children will--"

"It's too late to do anything!" cried Mrs. Clarke, wringing her hands. "I
knew something terrible would happen to him. I pleaded with them to help
me find him, but they put me off. Then I got so absorbed in Mac that he
drove everything else out of my mind. How long has he been in this awful
place? How long has he been ill? Who takes care of him?"

Nance, with her arms about Mrs. Clarke, told her as gently as she could
of Mr. Demry's advent into the alley fourteen years before, of his
friendship with the children, his occasional lapses from grace, and the
steady decline of his fortune.

"We must get him away from here!" cried Mrs. Clarke when she had gained
control of herself. "Go somewhere and telephone Mr. Clarke. Telephone Dr.
Adair. Tell him to bring an ambulance and another nurse and--and plenty
of blankets. Telephone to the house for them to get a room ready. But
wait--there's Mac--he mustn't know--"

It was the old, old mother-cry! Keep it from Mac, spare Mac, don't let
Mac suffer. Nance seized on it now to further her designs.