ept you, and Maude, who sat beside
you. I knew you would be there, and I looked the room over, missing you
at first, and feeling as if something were wanting to fire me up; then,
when I found you, the inspiration came, and if I began to flag ever so
little, I had only to look at your blue eyes and my blood was up again.'

This was a great deal for Harold to say and he felt half frightened when
he had said it; but Jerrie's answer was reassuring.

'Oh, I didn't know that. I am so glad you told me.'

They were close to the Tramp House now. The walk from the station had
been hot and dusty, and Jerry was tired, so she said to Harold:

'Let's go in a moment; it looks so cool in there.'

So they went in, and Jerry sat down upon a bench, while Harold took a
seat upon the table where Jerrie once had slept, with the shadow of
death around her, and the carpet-bag for her covering.

'I suppose you had peals of applause and flowers by the bushel,' Harold
said.

'Yes,' Jerry replied, 'applause enough, and flowers enough--twenty
bouquets and baskets in all, including yours. It was kind in you to send
it.'

She did not tell him of the wilted condition of his flowers, or that one
of the faded roses was pressed between the lids of her Latin grammar.

'Billy sent up a heart of blue forget-me-nots,' she continued, 'and Tom
a bunch of daisies on a standard of violets. What a prig Tom is, and
what a dandy Billy has grown to be, and he stammers worse than ever.'

'But he is one of the best-hearted fellows in the world;' Harold said,
'he has been very kind to me.'

'Yes, I know;' Jerry rejoined, quickly, 'he makes his father pay you big
wages in the office and gives you a great many holidays; that is kind.
But, oh, Harold, how I hate it all--your being obliged to work for such
a man as Peterkin. I wish I were rich! Maybe I shall be some day. Who
knows?'

The great tears were shining in her eyes as she talked, and brushing
them away she suddenly changed the conversation, and said:

'I never come in here that a thousand strange fancies do not begin to
flit through my brain, and my memory seems stretched to the utmost
tension, and I remember things away back in the past before you found me
in the carpet-bag.'

She was gazing up toward the rafters with a rapt look on her face, as if
she were seeing the things of which she was talking; and Harold, who had
never seen her in this way, said to her very softly:

'What do you remember,