.

She stood in the light of the doorway, so that the old man could see her
tawdry dress and the travel-dimmed red and white of her painted face.

"Is there a man named Jerry Sullivan livin' in this town?" she asked.

Enoch was conscious of a vague disappointment.

"Yes," he said, half reluctantly, "he lives here. I suppose thee's his
wife."

The woman looked at him curiously. Then she laughed.

"Yes, I suppose I am," she said; "can you show me where he lives?"

"I can't show thee very well in the dark, but it isn't far. If thee'll
wait a minute, I'll take thy satchel and go with thee."

He brought the mail-bag and picked up the stranger's valise.

"Thy husband's been looking for thee," he said, as they went along the
path that led across a vacant lot to the street.

The woman did not reply at once. She seemed intent upon gathering her
showy skirts out of the dust. When she spoke, her voice trembled on the
verge of a laugh.

"That so? I've been lookin' for him, too. Thought I'd give him a
pleasant surprise."

"He's got his house about finished."

The woman stopped in the path.

"His house," she sneered; "he must be rattled if he thinks I'll live in
a place like this--forty miles from nowhere."

They walked on in silence after that to the door of Jerry's shanty.
There was a light inside, and the smell of cooking mingled with the
resinous odor of the new lumber. Jerry was executing a difficult passage
in a very light opera to the somewhat trying accompaniment of frying
ham. The solo stopped abruptly when Enoch knocked.

"Come in," shouted the reckless voice of the singer, "let the good
angels come in, come in!"

Enoch opened the door.

"Good-evening, Jerry," he said gravely; "here is thy wife."

The young fellow crossed the floor at a bound with a smile that stayed
on his face after every vestige of joy had died out of it.

The woman gave him a coarse, triumphant stare.

"I heard you was lookin' for me," she said, with a chuckle, "but you
seemed kind o' s'prised after all."

Jerry stood perfectly still, with his hands at his sides. Behind him,
where the light fell full upon it, Enoch could see the cradle. The old
man placed the satchel on the step.

"I must go back and attend to the mail," he said, disappearing in the
darkness.

A few hours later, just as Enoch had fitted the key in the store door
and turned down the kerosene lamp, preparatory to blowing it out, Jerry
appeared in the doorway