"Here, dear," she said, returning noiselessly. "Here is a coin that was given me long ago by my grandfather--take it as a lucky-piece. And whenever you see it, think of one who loves you and is praying for you. And, Checkers, if you should have misfortune, and should really need to, don't hesitate to spend it; because, you see, if you don't have good luck, so that you do n't need to spend it, why it is n't a lucky piece, and you 'd better get rid of it--that is, if--if you have to." Checkers embraced her passionately. "My darling," he protested, "I shall have to be nearer starving to death than I 've ever been, or expect to be, before I part with this. I shall treasure it as a keepsake from the dearest, sweetest, prettiest, sandiest girl in the world; the one that I love and the one that loves me; and here--here's a scarfpin that once was my father's. They say opals are unlucky. Well, father got shot, but I wore it the lucky day I met you; so that does n't prove anything--wear it for my sake. Now, dear, I _must_ go. Keep a stiff upper lip, and do n't let the old man get in his bluff on you. Win your mother over--she'll help you out. I think she likes me; I am sure I do her. I 'll write to you every day. Good-bye, my precious--I 'll be back for you soon; good-bye, good-bye." One last fond embrace, one lingering kiss, and Checkers turned and walked resolutely away. The next morning early he bid the Bradleys a sorrowful farewell, and boarded the train for Little Rock. Mr. Bradley gave him letters to a number of merchants there, but he was unable to find employment. In fact, he only sought it in a half-hearted way; Little Rock was too small, too near Clarksville. Chicago was his Mecca. He felt a happy presentiment that once there circumstances would somehow solve for him the problem of existence. But, alas, for vain hopes! Day after day, from door to door, he sought employment without success. The answers he received to his inquiries for work were ever the same: "Business was dull; they were reducing rather than increasing their forces; sorry, but if anything turned up they would let him know." At times he received just enough encouragement to make his eventual failure the more disheartening and cruel. How could he write to Pert under such circumstances? At first it had not been so hard; but now he had put it off from day to day, dreading to tell her of his non-success, always hoping that surely to-morrow he must have good news, until fully a week elapsed in which he had not written. How troublesome a thing is pride--to the poor.