ed on the steel
of his bayonet. He had a fresh, fine, boyish face.

"We have some distance yet to go in this world," I said to myself, "no
man need repine for lack of good work ahead."

It was only a little way beyond this mill that an incident occurred
which occupied probably not ten minutes of time, and yet I have thought
about it since I came home as much as I have thought about any other
incident of my pilgrimage. I have thought how I might have acted
differently under the circumstances, how I could have said this or how I
ought to have done that--all, of course, now to no purpose whatever. But
I shall not attempt to tell what I ought to have done or said, but what
I actually did do and say on the spur of the moment.

It was in a narrow, dark street which opened off the brightly lighted
main thoroughfare of that mill neighbourhood. A girl standing in the
shadows between two buildings said to me as I passed:

"Good evening."

I stopped instantly, it was such a pleasant, friendly voice.

"Good evening," I said, lifting my hat and wondering that there should
be any one here in this back street who knew me.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

I stepped over quickly toward her, hat in hand. She was a mere slip of
a girl, rather comely, I thought, with small childish features and a
half-timid, half-bold look in her eyes. I could not remember having seen
her before.

She smiled at me--and then I knew!

Well, if some one had struck me a brutal blow in the face I could not
have been more astonished.

We know of things!--and yet how little we know until they are presented
to us in concrete form. Just such a little school girl as I have seen a
thousand times in the country, the pathetic childish curve of the chin,
a small rebellious curl hanging low on her temple.

I could not say a word. The girl evidently saw in my face that something
was the matter, for she turned and began to move quickly away. Such
a wave of compassion (and anger, too) swept over me as I cannot well
describe. I stepped after her and asked in a low voice:

"Do you work in the mills?"

"Yes, when there's work."

"What is your name?"

"Maggie--"

"Well, Maggie," I said, "let's be friends."

She looked around at me curiously, questioningly.

"And friends," I said, "should know something about each other. You see
I am a farmer from the country. I used to live in a city myself, a good
many years ago, but I got tired and sick and hopeles