air at a table whose occupants were leaving,
and motion Frances to do the same. As the tired little waitress, after
taking off the soiled cloth and putting on a fresh one, went away for
necessary equipment Van Landing opened the door and walked in and to
the table and held out his hand.

"You would not let me thank you this morning. May I thank you now
for--"

[Illustration: "YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY I
THANK YOU NOW FOR--"]

"Finding him?" Carmencita leaned halfway over the table, and her big
blue eyes looked anxiously at first one and then the other. "He was
looking for you, Miss Frances; he'd been looking all day and all night
because he'd just heard you were somewhere down here, and he's come to
have lunch with us, and--Oh, it's Christmas, Miss Frances, and please
tell him--say something, do something! He's been waiting three
years, and he can't wait another minute. Gracious! that smells good!"

The savory dish that passed caused a turn in Carmencita's head, and
Frances Barbour, looking into the eyes that were looking into hers,
held out her hand. At sight of Van Landing her face had colored
richly, then the color had left it, leaving it white, and in her eyes
was that he had never seen before.

"There is nothing for which to thank me." Her voice with its freshness
and sweetness stirred as of old, but it was low. She smiled slightly.
"I am very glad you are all right this morning. I did not know you
knew our part of the town." Her hand was laid on Carmencita's.

"I didn't until I met your little friend. I had never been in it
before. I know it now very well."

"And he was so fighting mad because he couldn't see you when I sent
the note that he went out, not knowing where he was or how to get
back, and when his senses came on again and he tried to find out he
couldn't find, and he walked 'most all night and was lost like people
in a desert who go round and round. And the next day he walked all
day long and 'most froze, and he'd passed Mother McNeil's house a
dozen times and didn't know it; and he was chasing Noodles and just
leaning against that railing when the cop came and you came. Oh, Miss
Frances, it's Christmas! Won't you please make up and--When are we
going to eat?"

Miss Barbour's hand closed over Carmencita's twisting ones, and into
her face again sprang color; then she laughed. "We are very hungry,
Mr. Van Landing. Would you mind sitting down so we can have lunch?"

An ho