igh to goin' crazy with the stitchin'--give her up?"--a wild
look was on Mary's face as she raised it suddenly, a desperate one in
her eyes--"I'll not give her up--she's mine----"

For a moment she gazed at the flushed face framed about with the sunny
hair, then she rose, and, moving about the room with feverish haste,
she gathered together certain of the garments which hung from nails
about the walls, and rolled them into a bundle. Then from between the
mattress and the boards of the bed she drew an old purse, and counted
its contents.

"Two dollars and seventy-five,--eighty-five, ninety,--that's mine,--the
rest is Norma's," and she returned the remainder to the hiding-place.
Then, putting on her own hat and shawl, she lifted the drowsy child,
still dressed, and slipping on her cloak, rolled her in addition, in the
shawl found with her that July morning almost five months before.

Then grimly picking up child and bundle, with one guilty, frightened
look about the room that for so many years had meant home to her, she
went out the door and hurried cautiously down the steps and out into the
snowy night.

* * * * *

It was half-past twelve when Norma Bonkowski, returning, climbed the
stairs of the Tenement wearily. She was cold, for her clothes were
thin; she was tired, for the day had been a hard one; she was
dispirited, for the manager had been more than usually sharp and
critical of her performance that night.

When she entered her door the room was dark. The lamp had burned itself
out and the room was filled with the sickening smell. The fire, too, was
out, save for a few red embers. With a sudden realization that something
was wrong, Norma groped about the littered mantel-shelf for a match,
then hastily lit an end of candle. Bed and crib were empty, half the
nails bare of their garments.

"Gone!" cried Norma, beginning to wring her hands. Intuitively she felt
what had happened. Desperate at the thought of losing her darling, Mary
Carew had fled.

But in a moment a re-assuring look replaced the fright on the blue,
pinched features. "I know Mary better than she knows herself," declared
the optimistic Norma, "she'll be back," and tossing her blonde head
resolutely, she threw aside her hat and cape and began to rekindle the
fire.

"I'll put on the tea-kettle, too," she told herself, "and be real
comfortable and extravagant for once, and have a cup of tea ready when