nce. She counted the
money out to the waiter and left an extra coin on his tray, whereupon he
bowed before her as before a princess of royal blood.

There was still money in her purse, and her next temptation presented
itself in the shape of a matinee poster.

It was a little later when she entered the theatre, the play had begun
and the house seemed to her to be packed. But there were vacant
seats here and there, and into one of them she was ushered, between
brilliantly dressed women who had gone there to kill time and eat candy
and display their gaudy attire. There were many others who were there
solely for the play and acting. It is safe to say there was no one
present who bore quite the attitude which Mrs. Sommers did to her
surroundings. She gathered in the whole--stage and players and people in
one wide impression, and absorbed it and enjoyed it. She laughed at
the comedy and wept--she and the gaudy woman next to her wept over the
tragedy. And they talked a little together over it. And the gaudy woman
wiped her eyes and sniffled on a tiny square of filmy, perfumed lace and
passed little Mrs. Sommers her box of candy.

The play was over, the music ceased, the crowd filed out. It was like
a dream ended. People scattered in all directions. Mrs. Sommers went to
the corner and waited for the cable car.

A man with keen eyes, who sat opposite to her, seemed to like the study
of her small, pale face. It puzzled him to decipher what he saw there.
In truth, he saw nothing-unless he were wizard enough to detect a
poignant wish, a powerful longing that the cable car would never stop
anywhere, but go on and on with her forever.

THE LOCKET

I

One night in autumn a few men were gathered about a fire on the slope
of a hill. They belonged to a small detachment of Confederate forces and
were awaiting orders to march. Their gray uniforms were worn beyond the
point of shabbiness. One of the men was heating something in a tin cup
over the embers. Two were lying at full length a little distance away,
while a fourth was trying to decipher a letter and had drawn close to
the light. He had unfastened his collar and a good bit of his flannel
shirt front.

"What's that you got around your neck, Ned?" asked one of the men lying
in the obscurity.

Ned--or Edmond--mechanically fastened another button of his shirt and
did not reply. He went on reading his letter.

"Is it your sweet heart's picture?"

"'Taint no