d he rested his hand affectionately on her shoulder before he
left the room.

A month before that time, Mrs. Farrington had received a visit from an
old college friend, one of the energetic workers in the university
settlements, and her stories of life in the slums had made a strong
impression upon Theodora's mind. For the time being, other interests
lost their charm. Theodora was content to sit by the hour and listen to
the experiences so remote from her own sheltered life. She was as
impressionable as most girls of her age; more than most girls, she
retained her impressions, dwelling upon them and magnifying them until
they seemed to become less a day-dream than a part of her actual
experience.

For the past three weeks, she had been filled with vague, restless
longings to have a share in the vast work of social reform; most of all,
her warm young heart turned to the neglected children. It was the same
impulse of protection which had first roused her interest in Billy
Farrington, the helpless invalid; and now, had Billy been a less
well-tried friend, he might have found himself forsaken to make room for
this new hobby of Theodora. As it was, she merely used him for a
safety-valve, and poured into his ears mysterious hints of the career
for which she was temporarily yearning.

The medicine was delivered, and, in the gathering dusk, Theodora's face
was turned towards home. It was a part of the town into which she rarely
penetrated,--a network of squalid streets near the water front; and, a
month ago, she would have swept through them with her nose in the air.
Now, however, she looked to the left and the right, as she walked
onward, hoping almost against hope that her secret prayers would be
answered, and that, even in this hasty progress, she might see some work
ready for her hand. Providence, always kind, was in a benign mood, and
her desire was fulfilled with unexpected promptness.

Down the street towards her came a forlorn little figure. It was a
child of nine, a girl whose grimy face was streaked and swollen with
tears, whose red hood was faded to a dull yellowish shade, whose coarse
gray coat was so many sizes too large for her that the sleeves were
folded back to allow her blue, chapped hands to come forth to the light
of day and to their destined usefulness. Theodora's heart gave a quick
bound, and, stepping forward, she bent over the wailing child.

"What is the matter?" she asked.

The child stopped sob