t over his head, although
the rain had not yet begun. One rib of the umbrella was broken, but it
was still serviceable. He hastened along the cart path; he did not know
why, only the need for motion, to reach protection from the storm, was
upon him; and yet what protection could be ahead of him in that woodland
path? Afterward he grew to think of it as a blind instinct which led him
on.

He had not gone far, not more than half a mile, when he saw something
unexpected--a small untenanted house. He gave vent to a little cry of
joy, which had in it something child-like and pathetic, and pushed open
the door and entered. It was nothing but a tiny, unfinished shack, with
one room and a small one opening from it. There was no ceiling; overhead
was the tent-like slant of the roof, but it was tight. The dusty floor
was quite dry. There was one rickety chair. Stebbins, after looking into
the other room to make sure that the place was empty, sat down, and a
wonderful wave of content and self-respect came over him. The poor human
snail had found his shell; he had a habitation, a roof of shelter. The
little dim place immediately assumed an aspect of home. The rain
came down in torrents, the thunder crashed, the place was filled with
blinding blue lights. Stebbins filled his pipe more lavishly this time,
tilted his chair against the wall, smoked, and gazed about him with
pitiful content. It was really so little, but to him it was so much.
He nodded with satisfaction at the discovery of a fireplace and a rusty
cooking-stove.

He sat and smoked until the storm passed over. The rainfall had been
very heavy, there had been hail, but the poor little house had not
failed of perfect shelter. A fairly cold wind from the northwest blew
through the door. The hail had brought about a change of atmosphere. The
burning heat was gone. The night would be cool, even chilly.

Stebbins got up and examined the stove and the pipe. They were rusty,
but appeared trustworthy. He went out and presently returned with some
fuel which he had found unwet in a thick growth of wood. He laid a
fire handily and lit it. The little stove burned well, with no smoke.
Stebbins looked at it, and was perfectly happy. He had found other
treasures outside--a small vegetable-garden in which were potatoes and
some corn. A man had squatted in this little shack for years, and had
raised his own garden-truck. He had died only a few weeks ago, and
his furniture had been pre-e