ransacting business, too, for he saw the men bringing
boxes of berries and vegetables for her inspection. A woman in a plain
blue skirt and a small black hat.

He caught a glimpse of white-streaked hair beneath the hat. A funny job
for a woman. What weren't they mixing into nowadays! He turned sidewise
in the narrow, crowded space in order to pass her little group. And one
of the men--a red-cheeked, merry-looking young fellow in white
apron--laughed and said: "Well, Emma, you win. When it comes to driving
a bargain with you, I quit. It can't be did!"

Even then he didn't know her. He did not dream that this straight, slim,
tailored, white-haired woman, bargaining so shrewdly with these men, was
the Emma Byers of the old days. But he stopped there a moment, in frank
curiosity, and the woman looked up. She looked up, and he knew those
intelligent eyes and that serene brow. He had carried the picture of
them in his mind for more than thirty years, so it was not so
surprising. And time deals kindly with women who have intelligent eyes
and serene brows.

He did not hesitate. He might have if he had thought a moment, but he
acted automatically. He stood before her. "You're Emma Byers, ain't
you?"

She did not know him at first. Small blame to her, so completely had the
roguish, vigorous boy vanished in this sallow, sad-eyed old man. Then:
"Why, Ben!" she said, quietly. And there was pity in her voice, though
she did not mean to have it there. She put out one hand--that capable,
reassuring hand--and gripped his and held it a moment. It was queer and
significant that it should be his hand that lay within hers.

"Well, what in all get-out are you doing around here, Emma?" He tried to
be jovial and easy. She turned to the aproned man with whom she had been
dealing and smiled.

"What am I doing here, Joe?" she said.

Joe grinned, waggishly. "Nothin'; only beatin' every man on the street
at his own game, and makin' so much money that--"

But she stopped him there. "I guess I'll do my own explaining." She
turned to Ben again. "And what are you doing here in Chicago?"

Ben passed a faltering hand across his chin. "Me? Well, I'm--we're
livin' here, I s'pose. Livin' here."

She glanced at him, sharply. "Left the farm, Ben?"

"Yes."

"Wait a minute." She concluded her business with Joe; finished it
briskly and to her own satisfaction. With her bright brown eyes and her
alert manner and her quick little movements she made