ays sending us
people. Why, yes; I've got room for you, I guess--this room here." She
pushed open a folding door leading into what had been her parlor.

"You can have this."

"And the price?"

"Four dollars."

"Eight dollars f'r the two of us. All right; we'll be with you a week or
two if we have luck."

Mrs. Welsh smiled. "Excuse me, won't you? I've got to be at my baking;
make y'rselves at home."

Bert remarked how much she looked like his own mother in the back. She
had the same tired droop in the shoulders, the same colorless dress,
characterless with much washing.

"Certainly. I feel at home already," replied Bert. "Now, Jim," he said,
after she left the room, "I'm going t' stay right here while you go and
order our trunks around--just t' pay you off f'r last night."

"All right," said Hartley cheerily, going out.

After getting warm, Bert returned to the sitting-room, and sat down at
the parlor organ and played a gospel hymn or two from the Moody and
Sankey hymnal. He was in the midst of the chorus of _Let Your Lower
Lights_, etc., when a young woman entered the room. She had a
whisk-broom in her hand, and stood a picture of gentle surprise. Bert
wheeled about on his stool.

"I thought it was Stella," she began.

"I'm a book agent," Bert explained. "I might as well out with it. There
are two of us. Come here to board."

"Oh!" said the girl, with some relief. She was very fair and very
slight, almost frail. Her eyes were of the sunniest blue, her face pale
and somewhat thin, but her lips showed scarlet, and her teeth were fine.
Bert liked her and smiled.

"A book agent is the next thing to a burglar, I know; but still--"

"Oh, I didn't mean that, but I _was_ surprised. When did you come?"

"Just a few moments ago. Am I in your way?" he inquired, with elaborate
solicitude.

"Oh no! Please go on. You play very well. It is seldom young men play at
all."

"I had to at college; the other fellows all wanted to sing. You play, of
course."

"When I have time." She sighed. There was a weary droop in her voice;
she seemed aware of it, and said more brightly:

"You mean Madison, I suppose?"

"Yes; I'm in my second year."

"I went there two years. Then I had to quit and come home to help
mother."

"Did you? That's why I'm out here on this infernal book business--to get
money to go on with."

She looked at him with interest now, noticing his fine eyes and waving
brown hair.

"It's dreadful, is