l that, it was the part of a wise man to make the best of it as it
was. The clock in some neighboring tower struck ten; we took a
street-car and rode home. As we were about to alight (I first, and
Storm following closely after me), I noticed a woman with a wild,
frightened face hurrying away from the street-lamp right in front of
us. My friend, owing either to his near-sightedness, or his
preoccupation, had evidently not observed her. We climbed the long
dimly lighted stairs to his room, and both stumbled at the door
against a large basket.

"That detestable washwoman!" he muttered. "How often have I told her
not to place her basket where everybody is sure to run into it!"

He opened the door and I carried the basket into the room, while he
struck a match and lighted the drop-light on the table.

"Excuse me for a moment," he went on, stooping to lift the cloth which
covered the basket. "I want to count--Gracious heavens! what is this?"
he cried suddenly, springing up as if he had stepped on something
alive; then he sank down into an arm-chair, and sat staring vacantly
before him. In the basket lay a sleeping infant, apparently about
eight months old. As soon as I had recovered from my first
astonishment, I bent down over it and regarded it attentively. It was
a beautiful, healthy-looking child,--not a mere formless mass of fat
with hastily sketched features, as babes of that age are apt to be.
Its face was of exquisite finish, a straight, well-modelled little
nose, a softly defined dimpled little chin, and a fresh, finely curved
mouth, through which the even breath came and went with a quiet,
hardly perceptible rhythm. It was all as sweet, harmonious, and
artistically perfect as a Tennysonian stanza. The little waif won my
heart at once, and it was a severe test of my self-denial that I had
to repress my desire to kiss it. I somehow felt that my friend ought
to be the first to recognize it as a member of his household.

"Storm," I said, looking up at his pale, vacant face. "It is a
dangerous thing to covet one's neighbor's child. But, if you don't
adopt this little dumb supplicant, I fear you will tempt me to break
the tenth commandment. I believe there is a clause there about
coveting children."

Storm opened his eyes wide, and with an effort to rouse himself,
pushed back the chair and knelt down at the side of the basket. With a
gentle movement he drew off the cover under which the child slept, and
discovered on