eaming eyes. "He really has a remarkable mind. Young as he is, he
has already decided to be a preacher. He has read the Bible through
twice, and can quote any passage you mention. He is the leader of Mr.
King's big Bible class. His father was a minister, and it has been my
daily prayer that Harold would go into the same work."

Ten dollars a week for the rooms and board for two was the price agreed
on, and John went down with Mrs McGwire to inform Dora of the
arrangement.

"I needn't ask your name," Mrs. McGwire said, smiling, as he picked up
the valises, "for I see it on your bag. John Trott is short and plain
enough."

John blinked. He had really thought seriously of changing his name, but
it was too late now; besides, what did it matter? He nodded. "Yes," he
said, looking at the letters on the valise. "A friend of mine, a
sign-painter, made me a present of this last Christmas, and he lettered
it himself."

Dora liked the spacious room very much, and it did not occur to her just
then to compare it to John's, as she hastily removed her few belongings
from his bags, and hung or laid them about the room.

After supper John went out to buy some tobacco, and when he returned he
found Dora in her room, most timidly entertaining Betty and Minnie
McGwire. Dora did not introduce her guests, and Betty rather gracefully
did it herself. She was an affable talker, a rather slim, gawky blonde,
while Minnie was a stocky brunette with heavy, dark brows and black hair
that was too coarse and wiry to be easily controlled.

"Betty's going to dress my doll," Dora informed him. "She has got lots
and lots of doll-things packed away, and Minnie has the cutest
doll-house you ever saw. It is full of tables and chairs and dishes and
even closets to hang things in. Could you show it to him, Minnie?"

"Sure," answered the child addressed. "I'll go get it."

"No, not to-night," John interposed. "Some other time."

Leaving the children, he turned into his cheerless room and lighted the
gas. He unpacked the valises and hung up some of his apparel under the
dust-curtain. There were his working-shirts, his overalls, his coarse
cap and stoggy shoes. He had bought an evening paper and he opened it
out to read it, but could not fix his attention even on the boldest of
the head-lines. Ridgeville, the cottage, Tilly, floated through his
mind, and a pain that was both physical and mental clutched his whole
being. He winced, ground his teeth toget