scrate, Mike!" and Mike agreed by a
most impatient gesture, but by the time summer had begun to wane the
agent was a far poorer man than when it had begun. Mike and Ellen
Carroll were only the leaders of a sorrowful procession that sought
his door evening after evening. Some asked for help who might have
done without it, but others were saved from actual want. There were a
few men who got work among the farms, but there was little steady
work. The agent made the most of odd jobs about the mill yards and
contrived somehow or other to give almost every household a lift. The
village looked more and more dull and forlorn, but in August, when a
traveling show ventured to give a performance in Farley, the
Corporation hall was filled as it seldom was filled in prosperous
times. This made the agent wonder, until he followed the crowd of
workless, sadly idle men and women into the place of entertainment and
looked at them with a sudden comprehension that they were spending
their last cent for a little cheerfulness.

VI.

The agent was going into the counting-room one day when he met old
Father Daley and they stopped for a bit of friendly talk.

"Could you come in for a few minutes, sir?" asked the younger man.
"There's nobody in the counting-room."

The busy priest looked up at the weather-beaten clock in the mill
tower.

"I can," he said. "'Tis not so late as I thought. We'll soon be having
the mail."

The agent led the way and brought one of the directors' comfortable
chairs from their committee-room. Then he spun his own chair
face-about from before his desk and they sat down. It was a warm day
in the middle of September. The windows were wide open on the side
toward the river and there was a flicker of light on the ceiling from
the sunny water. The noise of the fall was loud and incessant in the
room. Somehow one never noticed it very much when the mills were
running.

"How are the Duffys?" asked the agent.

"Very bad," answered the old priest gravely. "The doctor sent for
me--he couldn't get them to take any medicine. He says that it isn't
typhoid; only a low fever among them from bad food and want of care.
That tenement is very old and bad, the drains from the upper tenement
have leaked and spoiled the whole west side of the building. I suppose
they never told you of it?"

"I did the best I could about it last spring," said the agent. "They
were afraid of being turned out and they hid it for that reason. The