The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation. " "So I've found out the way to move her," thought the carpenter; "those tears will do her some good, at all events. Has he given you the tools?" "He has," replied Bess, producing the handkerchief. It was a sickening process, and the sucking sound was sure to wake up Ray’s mother. She tried to keep her side up by declaring that he had put her into an impossible position, and he replied by shouting, “Nonsense! Nonsense! Any father in my place would have done what I did. He's safe enough now. ’ ‘Not dead, miss.
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