ad
produced nothing but pure gold.

Now the memory of those dread moments was stirring afresh. But despair
had no place in the emotions it provoked. It was all the other extreme.
A world of glad hope had taken possession of him. A gladness
unspeakable, almost overpowering. A great impulse drove him now. It was
a sort of wild desire to yield to the amazing madness of it all, and cry
from the house-tops of his little world all that was clamouring for
unrestrained expression.

But the man had no more power to yield to this wild surge of feeling
than he had had power to yield to the despair of former years. So, for a
while, his voice remained silent, and only his lighting eyes gave index
of the thought and feeling behind them.

With the departure of Marcel and Keeko for the mother welcome of An-ina,
Steve also returned to the store. He came to release the willing
creature, yearning for that moment when she could revel in the joy of
the contemplation of her boy's happiness.

Steve took his place in the traffic that was going on, and nodded
soberly to the eager, dusky woman.

"Get right along, An-ina," he said kindly. "Guess they're needing you."

"Oh, yes? Marcel--Keeko." An-ina's eyes lit.

"Sure--and Keeko."

And the man's smile as he turned to the waiting customers was something
An-ina, at least, was never likely to forget.

Steve contemplated many things for that night. He contemplated unlocking
the doors of those hidden secrets of his life to which no one had been
admitted. But disappointment awaited him.

When the last of the Sleepers took their departure and the store was
closed for the night he passed into the kitchen for his supper. He
looked to find Keeko. He looked to find Marcel. He looked to revel in
those moments of happiness which still seemed utterly unreal, even
impossible. There were so many things he still had to learn before----

But An-ina had all the wisdom of a great mother. And, in response to his
question, he received the final verdict from which there was no appeal.

"Keeko all beat to death," she said, with quiet assurance. "She sleep
plenty. Oh, yes. Marcel he much angry with An-ina."

She glanced swiftly across at the great figure of Marcel, lounging over
the cook-stove, smoking with the happy content of a luxurious dreamer.
The smile that responded to An-ina's sly glance was one of boyish
shyness and held no threat of displeasure.

"Guess An-ina packed her to bed, Uncle Steve,"