rounds and not to be reached before one o'clock. So Cally had to
defer for a little while the happiness she would have in telling the
lame wanderer across her path that, after all, his eyes had not put
their trust in her in vain.

Later she sat again on a revolving seat at Gentlemen's Furnishings,
eagerly purchasing shirts, cost not exceeding one dollar each, for James
Thompson, aged thirteen, of up-country. It happened to be her work to do
in the world, and she was doing it.

She was waited upon at the popular counter by Miss Whirtle herself, whom
Cally remembered by figure if not by name; and she was so extremely
agreeable and mollifying in her manner that the Saleslady's arrogance
thawed away, and they were soon discussing questions of neck-sizes and
sleeve-lengths in the friendliest intimacy. There were collars and
neckties purchased, too,--these items Cally added on her own account,
being in the vein of making presents to people to-day,--and here Miss
Whirtle's taste was invaluable in assisting one to decide which were the
nobby shapes and swell patterns and which the contrary. The robust one
patted her transformation many times at Miss Heth, invited her at
parting to call again; and later on--that night, it was--reported the
whole conversation in detail in the Garland dining-room, imparting, we
need not doubt, her own witty flavor to it all.

In Baird & Himmel's Cally met several other acquaintances, and finally
Evey McVey, who was delighted to see her out again, but seemed to be
examining her rather curiously, doubtless with reference to Hugo and
what had happened in that quarter. Evey herself complained of being
tired; so Cally drove her second-best friend to the McVey residence in
the car, but pleaded duties at home against getting out for a
little visit.

And then, bowling homeward in the brisk airs, she could return to her
own thoughts again, which, as by the rubbing of an Aladdin's lamp, had
suddenly become so happy and so absorbing. Later, she must think about
mamma, and with what time and solaces she could close that breach. But
in these hours her thought was all for her father, whom she seemed just
to be beginning to understand for the first time in her life....

Now all the imaginative dreads and nightmare terrors were faded away,
and she felt beneath her feet the solid sanity of Hugo's self. She had
seen the Works on an exceptionally bad day; she had gone there,
overdrawn and ignorant, looking for