son! Good Lord!" blurted out Jim. "Me--Sol Hanson! Lassie, lassie,
I didna think I was so good looking. Are ye looking for Sol Hanson?"

The girl did not answer. A moisture began to gather in her big, blue
eyes, and a tear toppled over.

Jim was all baby at once.

"Dinna greet!--there's a good lass! Dinna greet here in the street,"
he coaxed. "If it is Sol Hanson ye want, we can soon help ye to get
him."

The girl bent down and opened up one of her hand-bags, bringing out a
large photograph, pasted on a creamy-coloured, gay-looking cardboard
mount. She handed it to Jim, searching his face with her tear-dimmed
eyes.

Jim gazed at it in bewilderment. Then he scratched his head and gazed
again.

"Ain't that your picture?" the young lady asked. "Don't tell me that
it ain't, for it wouldn't be true; and I came all this way because you
wrote so nice and looked so big and good. I--I didn't think you was a
bluffer like--like other men."

Her breath caught and she began to sob.

"My dear lassie,--I am bewildered,--confounded. I--I----That is my
photo, but where in all the world did ye get it from?"

The girl looked at him a little angrily, for she had pluck in plenty.

"Where do you think? I ain't stole it. You sent it to me. Where else
could I get it?"

Jim stood foolishly.

"I certainly never sent it. Why, woman!--I never saw ye before. I
don't know your name even. I--I----

"There, there! Dinna start to greet again. We'll fix you up, if you'll
only tell Phil and me your trouble."

"--And your name ain't Sol Hanson?" she queried, with a trembling
lip.

"No!--I am sorry to say it is not!"

From her grip, the girl picked out a bundle of envelopes, well filled,
and done up in lavender-coloured ribbon.

"--And--and you never wrote them letters to me?"

Jim looked at the writing and shook his head.

"No,--I never did!"

"--And--and you don't know my name's Betty Jornsen?"

"I didn't, but I do now, Betty," gallantly answered Jim, while Phil
was beside himself trying to stifle his amusement one moment, and
endeavouring to keep back his feelings of sympathy for the girl, the
next.

Several passers-by turned round and stared in open interest at the
strange meeting.

"Shut up your bag, lassie! Don't show us any more o' your gear,"
appealed Jim in perturbation at the thought of what might come out
next.

The buxom, fair-haired woman began to sob again. She turned and
appealed to Phil.

"Oh, what am I