"Come on, Mis' Bingy," I says, "it's getting late. We don't want to sleep out here to-night." The room that we finally found was at the back and up two stairways, and it cost fifty cents more than we thought we'd pay, but we took it. And now the singing in me that I'd been keeping down while there was things to do, come up through, the little funny singing that was all over me. I took out the two cards--that I'd got only that morning, that seemed, lifetimes back--and laid one of 'em on the bureau. It was Mr. Ember's card. The other one I wouldn't look up till to-morrow when I started out to find my work. But this one was his card, that he'd told me would find him. He'd been on his way back to the city that morning. By now he would be here. And I wasn't going to wait. I put on my other shoes and a clean waist, and I told Mis' Bingy that I'd be back in a little while. She was going to try to go to sleep. I heard her lock the door before I got to the stairs, and I knew that she'd be afraid all the time that Keddie was going to find her. Out on the street I asked how to get to the address on the card. It was on the far edge of the town: the policeman begun to tell me which car to take. "I'll walk," I says. "It'll take you an hour," says he. "It's my hour," says I, and I started. But it come to me that that wasn't the way Mr. Ember would have thought anybody ought to answer, and I felt kind of sick. I thought, How was I going to remember to do all the ways I knew he'd want? It took me more than an hour to walk it. It was 'most six o'clock when I finally turned in the little street, just a block long, where he lived. My heart begun to beat, while I walked along slow, looking at the numbers. It come to me that maybe he wouldn't be glad to see me. Sixteen ... eighteen ... twenty-two ... twenty-four, and that was his. It had a high brick fence--I could just see the roof over it--and a little picket gate standing open. I went along a short walk with green and yellow bushes on each side to a low porch with a door, that was standing open, too. And on the door was two cards: "Mr. Arthur Gordon" was on one. The other was his. Below them it said: "Visitors Enter." So I went in, the way it said, through a low, bare, dim hall, and through a door on the right to a little room; and beyond was a big room, with a queer, sloping window all over the ceiling. The room had pictures on the walls. And it was full of folks. I stood by the door looking for him. It didn't seem possible that we could meet here, now, when I'd left him such a little while ago, there in Twiney's pasture. There was a good many different kinds of men, most of them smiling. They were looking at the pictures, or drinking from cups round a white table. I looked at them first, one after another; but none of them was him.