so glad you came. We didn't know what to do."

"I've been looking for him--" He bent to pick up the broken cup. "I'm
dreadfully sorry. You must let me pay for it."

"Oh, no."

"Please." He was looking at it. "It was valuable?"

"Yes," Jean admitted, "it was one of Emily's precious pets."

"Please don't think any more about it," Emily begged. "You had better
get your father home at once, and put him to bed with a hot water
bottle."

Now that the shabby youth was looking at her with troubled eyes, Emily
found herself softening towards the old gentleman. Simply as a
derelict she had not cared what became of him. But as the father of
this son, she cared.

"Thank you, I will. We must be going, Dad."

The old gentleman stood up. "Wait a minute--I came for tin
soldiers--Derry--"

"They are not for sale," Miss Emily stated. "They are made in Germany.
I can't get any more. I have withdrawn everything of the kind from my
selling stock."

The shabby old gentleman murmured, disconsolately.

"Oh, Emily," said the girl behind the counter, "don't you think we
might--?"

Derry Drake glanced at her with sudden interest. She had an unusual
voice, quick and thrilling. It matched her beauty, which was of a rare
quality--white skin, blue eyes, crinkled hair like beaten copper.

"I don't see," he said, smiling for the first time, "what Dad wants of
tin soldiers."

"To make 'em fight," said the shabby old man, "we've got to have some
fighting blood in the family."

The smile was struck from the young man's face. Out of a dead silence,
he said at last, "You were very good to look after him. Come, Dad."
His voice was steady, but the flush that had flamed in his cheeks was
still there, as he put his arm about the shaky old man and led him to
the door.

"Thank you both again," he said from the threshold. Then, with his
head high, he steered his unsteady parent out into the rain.

It was late when the two women left the shop. Miss Emily, struggling
down the block with her white elephant, found, in a few minutes, harbor
in her boarding house. But Jean lived in the more fashionable section
beyond Dupont Circle. Her father was a doctor with a practice among
the older district people, who, in spite of changing administrations
and fluctuating populations, had managed, to preserve their family
traditions and social identity.

Dr. McKenzie did not always dine at home. But tonight when Jean came
down he was