ding into the mill yard. The noise always
irritated him. He had none of Clayton's joy and understanding of it.
To Clayton each sound had its corresponding activity. To Graham it was
merely din, an annoyance to his ears, as the mill yard outraged his
fastidiousness. But that morning he found it rather more bearable. He
stooped where, in front of the store, the storekeeper had planted a tiny
garden. Some small late-blossoming chrysanthemums were still there and
he picked one and put it in his buttonhole.

His own office was across the yard. He dodged in front of a yard
locomotive, picked his way about masses of lumber and the general litter
of all mill yards, and opened the door of his own building. Just inside
his office a girl was sitting on a straight chair, her hat a trifle
crooked, and her eyes red from crying. He paused in amazement.

"Why, Miss Klein!" he said. "What's the matter?"

She was rather a pretty girl, even now. She stood up at his voice and
made an effort to straighten her hat.

"Haven't you heard?" she asked.

"I haven't heard anything that ought to make Miss Anna Klein weep of a
nice, frosty morning in October. Unless--" he sobered, for her grief was
evident. "Tell me about it."

"Father has given up his job."

"No!"!

"I'm telling you, Mr. Spencer. He won't help to make those shells. He's
been acting queer for three or four days and this morning he told your
father."

Graham whistled.

"As if it made any difference," she went on irritably. "Some one else
will get his job. That's all. What does he care about the Germans? He
left them and came to America as soon as he could walk."

Graham sat down.

"Now let's get this," he said. "He won't make shells for the Allies and
so he's given up his position. All right. That's bad, but he's a good
workman. He'll not have any trouble getting another job. Now, why are
you crying?"

"I didn't think you'd want me to stay on."

Putting her fear into words brought back her long hours of terror. She
collapsed into the chair again and fell to unquiet sobbing. Graham was
disturbed.

"You're a queer girl," he said. "Why should that lose me my most valued
assistant?"

When she made no reply he got up and going over to her put a hand on her
shoulder. "Tell me that," he said.

He looked down at her. The hair grew very soft and blonde at the nape of
her neck, and he ran a finger lightly across it. "Tell me that."

"I was afraid it would."

"And, eve