as been denied you?"

He looked into her eyes almost fearfully, but it seemed to her that
his own held a first glimmer of hope.

"Do you believe there can be joy for me anywhere in the world?" he
asked.

"Of course. I tell you there's just as much sweet as there is bitter
in life. Don't I know it? Haven't I proved it? But happiness doesn't
chase people who try to hide from it. It will meet you halfway, but
you've got to do your share to deserve it. I'm not preaching; I've
lived this all out, in my own experience, and know what I'm talking
about. Now as for you, sir, I can see very plainly you haven't been
doing your duty. You've met sorrow and let it conquer you. You've
taken melancholy by the hand and won't let go of it. You haven't tried
to fight for your rights--the rights God gave to every man and expects
him to hold fast to and take advantage of. No, indeed!"

"But what is the use?" he asked, timidly, yet with an eager look in
his face. "You are young, my child; I am nearly old enough to have
been your father. There are things you have not yet learned; things I
hope you will never learn. An oak may stand alone in a field, and be
lonely because it cannot touch boughs with another. A flower may bloom
alone in a garden, and wither and die for want of companionship. God's
wisdom grouped every living thing. He gave Adam a comrade. He created
no solitary thing. But see, my child: although this world contains
countless thousands, there is not one among them I may call my
friend."

"Oh, yes; just one!" said Myrtle quickly. "I am your friend. Not
because you want me, but because you need me. And that's a beginning,
isn't it? I can find other friends for you, among _my_ friends, and
you will be sure to like them because I like them."

This naive suggestion did not affect him as much as the fact that this
fair young girl had confessed herself his friend. He did not look at
Myrtle now; he stared straight ahead, at the wall paper, and his brow
was furrowed as if he was thinking deeply.

Perhaps any other man would have thanked the girl for her sympathy and
her proffered friendship, or at the least have acknowledged it. But
not so this queer Mr. Jones; eccentric, indeed, as the shrewd landlord
had described him. Nor did Myrtle seem to expect an acknowledgment.
It was enough for her that her speech had set him thinking along new
lines.

He sat musing for so long that she finally remembered it was growing
late, and bega