pictured
that walk up Tenth Street at two in the morning, through the thin
sifting snow, the big tragic man at he; side, it seemed a beautiful and
wonderful thing. They had been all alone out in the city's streets,
close together, feeling as one the reality of life, sharing as one the
sharp unconquerable tragedy, suffering together against the injustice of
the world.

But at the moment she felt only bitter, self-reproachful, and full of
pity for poor human beings. It was a time when the divine creatures born
of woman seemed mere little waifs astray in a friendless universe,
somehow lost on a cruel earth, crying like children in the pitiless
night, foredoomed and predestined to broken hearts and death. It seemed
a very sad and strange mystery, and more sad, more strange to be one of
these human beings herself.

They reached the house. Lights were still burning in the office, and
when they entered they found the District Committee sitting about the
red stove, still working out the morrow's plans. Giotto was there, Sally
Heffer, and Jacob Izon, and others, tired, pale, and huddled, but still
toiling wearily with one another. As Joe and Myra came in they looked
up, and Sally rose.

"Is she--" she began, and then spoke angrily, "I can see she's been
held."

Joe smiled sadly.

"Sent to the workhouse for five days."

Exclamations of indignation arose. The committee could not believe it.

"I wish," cried impetuous Sally, "that magistrate were my husband. I'd
throw a flatiron at his head and put some castor-oil in his soup!"

Joe laughed a little. He looked at his watch, and then at Myra.

"Myra," he said, gently, "it's two o'clock--too late to go home. You
must sleep with mother."

Myra spoke softly.

"No--I can get home all right."

He took her by the arm.

"Myra," he leaned over, "do just this one thing for me."

"I will!" she breathed.

He led her in through his room, and knocked softly.

"Mother!"

"Yes," came a clear, wide-awake voice. "I'm awake, Joe."

"Here's Myra. May she stay with you?"

"Good!"

Myra went in, but turned.

"Joe," she said, tremulously, "you're not going to stay up with that
committee?"

"They need me, Myra."

"But, Joe," her voice broke--"this is too much of a good thing--"

Joe's mother interrupted her.

"Better leave the boy alone, Myra--to-night, anyway."

Joe laughed.

"I'll try to cut it short! Sweet dreams, ladies!"

For long they heard his voice mingled w