to sleep, she
would show him something to-morrow that he would understand.

She got quickly into bed and moved about freely between the sheets. Yes,
she was warm all over. A cold, dry breeze was coming in from the river,
thank goodness! She tried to think about her little rock house and the
Arizona sun and the blue sky. But that led to memories which were still
too disturbing. She turned on her side, closed her eyes, and tried an
old device.

She entered her father's front door, hung her hat and coat on the rack,
and stopped in the parlor to warm her hands at the stove. Then she went
out through the diningroom, where the boys were getting their lessons at
the long table; through the sitting-room, where Thor was asleep in his
cot bed, his dress and stocking hanging on a chair. In the kitchen she
stopped for her lantern and her hot brick. She hurried up the back
stairs and through the windy loft to her own glacial room. The illusion
was marred only by the consciousness that she ought to brush her teeth
before she went to bed, and that she never used to do it. Why--? The
water was frozen solid in the pitcher, so she got over that. Once
between the red blankets there was a short, fierce battle with the cold;
then, warmer--warmer. She could hear her father shaking down the
hard-coal burner for the night, and the wind rushing and banging down
the village street. The boughs of the cottonwood, hard as bone, rattled
against her gable. The bed grew softer and warmer. Everybody was warm
and well downstairs. The sprawling old house had gathered them all in,
like a hen, and had settled down over its brood. They were all warm in
her father's house. Softer and softer. She was asleep. She slept ten
hours without turning over. From sleep like that, one awakes in shining
armor.

On Friday afternoon there was an inspiring audience; there was not an
empty chair in the house. Ottenburg and Dr. Archie had seats in the
orchestra circle, got from a ticket broker. Landry had not been able to
get a seat, so he roamed about in the back of the house, where he
usually stood when he dropped in after his own turn in vaudeville was
over. He was there so often and at such irregular hours that the ushers
thought he was a singer's husband, or had something to do with the
electrical plant.

Harsanyi and his wife were in a box, near the stage, in the second
circle. Mrs. Harsanyi's hair was noticeably gray, but her face was
fuller and handsomer than