And yet, for a week nothing happened: Joe came in the evenings and sat on
the steps with Sidney, his honest heart, in his eyes. She could not bring
herself at first to tell him about the hospital. She put it off from day
to day. Anna, no longer sulky, accepted wit the childlike faith Sidney's
statement that "they'd get along; she had a splendid scheme," and took to
helping Harriet in her preparations for leaving. Tillie, afraid of her
rebellious spirit, went to prayer meeting. And K. Le Moyne, finding his
little room hot in the evenings and not wishing to intrude on the two on
the doorstep, took to reading his paper in the park, and after twilight to
long, rapid walks out into the country. The walks satisfied the craving of
his active body for exercise, and tired him so he could sleep. On one such
occasion he met Mr. Wagner, and they carried on an animated conversation
until it was too dark to see the pad. Even then, it developed that Wagner
could write in the dark; and he secured the last word in a long argument by
doing this and striking a match for K. to read by.

When K. was sure that the boy had gone, he would turn back toward the
Street. Some of the heaviness of his spirit always left him at sight of
the little house. Its kindly atmosphere seemed to reach out and envelop
him. Within was order and quiet, the fresh-down bed, the tidiness of his
ordered garments. There was even affection--Reginald, waiting on the
fender for his supper, and regarding him with wary and bright-eyed
friendliness.

Life, that had seemed so simple, had grown very complicated for Sidney.
There was her mother to break the news to, and Joe. Harriet would approve,
she felt; but these others! To assure Anna that she must manage alone for
three years, in order to be happy and comfortable afterward--that was hard
enough to tell Joe she was planning a future without him, to destroy the
light in his blue eyes--that hurt.