her mother's room. Mrs. McGwire was there, hemming sheets for the house,
and was deeply touched by his act.

"It was awfully kind of you," she said, and then she began to cry. "I'm
a fool," she whimpered, wiping her eyes, "but you were carrying her just
as her father did only a week before he died."

However, she dried her eyes quickly and hastened to disrobe Minnie, who
was still asleep.

"You have been a godsend to us all, Mr. Trott," Mrs. McGwire declared.
"The children worship you. Did you know it? Every night they listen for
your coming, and they often go into the kitchen to inquire if you are
getting exactly what you like to eat. I am telling you this because I
like to have children love me, and these love you very deeply."

* * * * *

One day John had to go to the office of a great newspaper directory
where files were kept of almost all the papers in the United States, his
object being to look over the advertised offers for bids on public
buildings in a certain New Jersey town. He was sent into the basement of
the establishment, where he found the files arranged in compartments in
shelves on both sides of a long room. An attendant handed him a
catalogue of the papers with the numbered key to their locations, and he
soon secured the information he desired. He was about to leave when a
terrible thought took hold of him, and he ran his eye over the
catalogue. Yes, there it was. _The Cranston News_. He went to the
indicated compartment himself, took down the file it contained, and bore
it to the table and seat set aside for patrons. It was a tiny,
half-stereotyped weekly, and on that account its compartment held a
longer file than otherwise would have been the case. He put the stack of
papers on the table before him. Should he look for the thing the mere
thought of which seemed to deaden his brain? He knew the time that the
item would naturally appear, and with cold, fumbling fingers he drew
out the issue under that date. He held it a moment unopened.

"What good would it do?" something seemed to admonish him. "Don't rasp a
healing wound."

The attendant noticed his apparent indecision and approached politely.
"Is there something else you want to see?" he asked.

"No, thanks; these are all," John answered, and he opened the paper. The
clerk left him and he allowed his glance to sweep the columns of local
happenings.

It was there. The mere head-line in bold type was sufficien