here?"

"I ask for food, I'm hungry."

"Are you a tramp?"

"Yes, Madam!"

"Anything else?"

Just here Direxia burst in with "That'll be enough--you come out in the
kitchen and I'll give you something to eat in a paper bag and you can
take it away with you."

"I shall be pleased to have you take supper with me, sir! Direxia, set a
place for this gentleman."

"I--cannot, Madam!--I thank you, but you must excuse me."

"Why can't you?"

"You must excuse me! If your woman will give me a morsel to eat in the
kitchen, or perhaps I had better go at once."

"Stop! Direxia, go and set another place for supper! Shut the door! Come
here and sit down! No, not on that cheer. Take the ottoman with the bead
puppy on it. There! I get crumpled up, sitting here alone. Some day I
shall turn to wood. I like a new face and a new notion. I had a grandson
who used to live with me, and I'm lonesome since he died. How do you
like tramping, now?"

"Pretty well; it's all right in the summer, or when a man has his
health."

"See things, hey, new folks, new faces, get ideas, is that it?"

"That begins it, but after a while,--I really think I must go. Madam,
you are very kind but I prefer to go."

"Cat's foot!"

The shabby man laughed helplessly and just then Direxia stuck her head
in at the door and snapped out, "Supper's ready!"

The shabby man seemed in a kind of dream--half unconsciously he put the
old lady into her chair--then at a sign from her he took the seat
opposite--he laid the damask napkin across his knees and winced at the
touch of it as at the touch of a long-forgotten hand. Mrs. Tree talked
on easily, asking questions about the roads he traveled and the people
he met. He answered briefly. Suddenly close at hand a voice spoke.

"Old friends!"

The man started to his feet, white as the napkin he held.

"It's only a parrot! Sit down again. There he is at your elbow. Jocko is
his name. He does my swearing for me. My grandson and a friend of his
taught him that, and I have taught him a few other things besides. Good
Jocko! Speak up, boy!"

"Old friends to talk; old books to read; old wine to drink! Zooks!
Hooray for Arthur and Will! they're the boys!"

"That was my grandson and his friend. What's the matter? Feel faint,
hey?"

"Yes, I am--faint. I must get out into the air."

"Nothing of the sort! You'll come upstairs and lie down."

"No! no! not in this house. Never! never!"

"Cat's foot! Don't talk to