ined that
Giant Despair seldom spoke a kindly word.

The sympathy of that young woman in the shop, into which he stumbled
by mistake, had touched him. She _knew_. It was not pity,--that he
despised,--but a sort of fellowship in misfortune, and he had seized
upon it hungrily, even while he called himself a fool. Perhaps it was
this slight but softening experience which made possible to-day the
faint regret that a little child was to be disappointed about this
cake.

Such feelings could not find a harbor for long in that impatient
breast. Becoming aware of sounds in the hall, Giant Despair strode
across the room and flung open the door, intending to demand the
instant removal of the cake. He was confronted by a small boy in a red
coat and cap who cried excitedly, "Has you got my birfday cake?"

"Hey? So it is yours, is it? And who are you?"

But its owner had caught sight of it through the open door; and
pushing past Giant Despair, he lifted up his voice in a paean of joy.
"It's here! it's here! it's here!" he cried, standing before the desk
with clasped hands and uplifted eyes, like a worshipper before a
shrine. "Somebody give it to me! It's mine!"

"Where did that child come from?" asked Giant Despair, as he spoke
becoming aware of the presence of some one else in the hall.

"I brought him, Mr. Goodman. It is Miss Carpenter of the shop." Marion
advanced. "It is James Mandeville Norton, a small friend of ours, to
whom we had promised a birthday cake. He was on the watch for it and
was quite sure he saw it carried in here, and to pacify him I ventured
to come and inquire."

If Giant Despair could ever be said to be affable he became so at this
moment, to the evident astonishment of Annie, the maid. She could not
know of the bond of sympathy that existed between this graceful young
lady and her surly master.

"Why, how do you do? Come in;--ridiculous mistake. Glad to find the
owner," he stammered, offering her a chair. "Fearful weather," he
added, poking the fire.

"Very Novemberish," Marion agreed, declining the chair. "We won't
trouble you further," she said.

"Somebody _please_ give me my cake. It's mine; I know it's mine."
James Mandeville's voice betrayed anguish of soul.

"He will let you have it, dear. Mr. Goodman doesn't want it. It was
brought here by mistake," said Marion, reassuringly putting her arm
around the child.

That any one could see such a cake and not want it was naturally
beyond James