eld the sleeve of Van Landing's coat with a
sturdy clutch. "He isn't a damanarkist. I can tell by his eyes. They
are so lonely-looking. You aren't telling a story, are you Mr. Van? Is
it truly truth that you haven't anybody?"

"It is truly truth," he said. "I mean anybody to make Christmas for."

"No mother or father or a little girl like me? Haven't you even got a
wife?"

"Not even a wife." Van Landing smiled.

"You are as bad as Miss Barbour. She hasn't anybody, either, now, she
says, 'most everybody being--"

"Miss who?" Van Landing turned so sharply that the child jumped. "Who
did you say?"

"Miss Barbour." The eyes which were so like those he could not forget
were raised to his. "If you knew Miss Barbour she could tell you of
plenty of people to make Christmas for. She's living right now with
Mother McNeil, who isn't really anybody's mother, but just
everybody's. But she don't live there all the time. Most of her people
are dead or married and don't need her, so she came to Mother McNeil
to see how children down there live. What's the matter, Mr. Van?"

To hide the upleaping flame in his face and the sudden trembling of
his hands Van Landing stooped down and picked up the handkerchief he
had dropped; then he stepped back and out of the circle of light in
which he had been standing. For a moment he did not speak lest his
voice be as unsteady as his hands, but, taking out his watch, he
looked at it, then put it back with fumbling fingers.

"Her first name--Miss Barbour's first name," he said, and the dryness
of his throat made his words a little indistinct. "What is it?"

With mouth rounded into a little ball, Carmencita blew on her stiff
finger-tips. "Frances," she said, and first one foot and then the
other was stamped for purpose of warmth. "The damanarkist says God
made her, but the devil has more to do with most women than anybody
else. He don't like women. Do you know her, Mr. Van?"

"If your friend is my friend--I know her very well," he said, and put
his hands in his pockets to hide the twitching of his fingers. "A long
time ago she was the only real friend I had, and I lost her. I have
wanted very much to find her."

"Oh, Father, if he knows Miss Barbour he's bound to be all right!"
Carmencita's arms were flung above her head and down again, and on her
tiptoes she danced gaily round and round. "We can show him where she
lives." She stopped. "No, we can't. She told me I must never do that.
I mus