her nights, while his purse dwindled and his strength waned.
At last he got a man in a drug-store to search the directory for
his sister's residence. They found a name he took to be his
brother-in-law's. It was two days later when he found the address,--a
great, many-storied mansion on one of the southern boulevards,--and found
also that his search had been in vain. Sore and faint, he staggered back
to his miserable shelter, only to arise feverish and ill in the morning.
He frequented the great shop doors, thronged with brilliantly-dressed
ladies, and watched to see if his little sister might not dash up in
one of those satin-lined coaches and take him where he would be warm and
safe and would sleep undisturbed by drunken, ribald songs and loathsome
surroundings. There were days when he almost forgot his name, and,
striving to remember, would lose his senses for a moment and drift back
to the harmonious solitudes of the North and breathe the resin-scented
frosty atmosphere. He grew terrified at the blood he coughed from his
lacerated lungs, and wondered bitterly why the boys did not come to take
him home.

One day, as he painfully dragged himself down a residence street, he
tried to collect his thoughts and form some plan for the future. He had
no trade, understood no handiwork; he could fell trees. He looked at
the gaunt, scrawny, transplanted specimens that met his eye, and gave
himself up to the homesickness that filled his soul. He slept that night
in the shelter of a stable, and spent his last money in the morning for
a biscuit.

He travelled many miles that afternoon looking for something to which he
might turn his hand. Once he got permission to carry a hod for half an
hour. At the end of that time he fainted. When he recovered, the foreman
paid him twenty-five cents. "For God's sake, man, go home," he said.
Luther stared at him with a white face and went on.

There came days when he so forgot his native dignity as to beg.
He seldom received anything; he was referred to various charitable
institutions the existence of which he had never heard.

One morning, when a pall of smoke enveloped the city and the odors of
coal-gas refused to lift their nauseating poison through the heavy air,
Luther, chilled with dew and famished, awoke to a happier life. The
loneliness at his heart was gone. The feeling of hopeless imprisonment
that the miles and miles of streets had terrified him with gave place
to one of freedom an