etter. You know who it is from. And I am
not going to ask your forgiveness, or anything of that sort. I don't
expect it. But one thing hurt me more than anything else, the other
night. You said you'd lost your faith in yourself. This is to tell you
that you need not. And you said something else--that any one can 'come
back.' I wonder!"

K. stood in the hall of the little house with the letter in his hand.
Just beyond on the doorstep was Sidney, waiting for him. His arms were
still warm from the touch of her. Beyond lay the Street, and beyond that
lay the world and a man's work to do. Work, and faith to do it, a good
woman's hand in the dark, a Providence that made things right in the
end.

"Are you coming, K.?"

"Coming," he said. And, when he was beside her, his long figure folded
to the short measure of the step, he stooped humbly and kissed the hem
of her soft white dress.

Across the Street, Mr. Wagner wrote something in the dark and then
lighted a match.

"So K. is in love with Sidney Page, after all!" he had written. "She
is a sweet girl, and he is every inch a man. But, to my mind, a certain
lady--"

Mrs. McKee flushed and blew out the match.

Late September now on the Street, with Joe gone and his mother eyeing
the postman with pitiful eagerness; with Mrs. Rosenfeld moving heavily
about the setting-up of the new furniture; and with Johnny driving
heavenly cars, brake and clutch legs well and Strong. Late September,
with Max recovering and settling his tie for any pretty nurse who
happened along, but listening eagerly for Dr. Ed's square tread in the
hall; with Tillie rocking her baby on the porch at Schwitter's, and
Carlotta staring westward over rolling seas; with Christine taking up
her burden and Grace laying hers down; with Joe's tragic young eyes
growing quiet with the peace of the tropics.

"The Lord is my shepherd," she reads. "I shall not want."..."Yea, though
I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."

Sidney, on her knees in the little parlor, repeats the words with the
others. K. has gone from the Street, and before long she will join him.
With the vision of his steady eyes before her, she adds her own prayer
to the others--that the touch of his arms about her may not make her
forget the vow she has taken, of charity and its sister, service, of a
cup of water to the thirsty, of open arms to a tired child.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of K,