She made him sit down in the only armchair, where he drew off his gloves, put them in his hat, set that on the floor, and made himself comfortable, while Annie filled her kettle and set it on the stove, and laid a clean cloth on the table in preparation for tea. “How is work now, Annie?” he inquired, while she flitted from cupboard to table, and back and forth. “Plentiful with me; I have just as much as I can jump at,” she answered, brightly. “And work fourteen hours out of the twenty-four.” “Sometimes, yes. It don’t hurt me. I always sleep so well.” “I am glad to hear it. How is work with Adler?” “Oh, he has got a steady job on the new railroad.” “I am very glad to hear that, too.” “Isn’t it strange, Mr. William, that Adler has never been out of work a day since that night when you saved his life. Oh! it must be a glorious thing to save life—especially the life of a young father of a family!” said Annie Moss. “How do you know I saved his life, Annie?” “Oh! why, Adler told me himself; and so did his wife. They have told dozens of people. They will never forget the ‘good turn’ you did him, as they call it; and they say, besides, it turned his luck, for he has never been out of employment since; and now he has got a job on the new railroad.” “I wonder if I could work on that road?” “Yes, I think so. Adler told me only last night that they wanted more laborers,” said Annie Moss, as she set the tea to draw, and placed plates of bread, butter and cold corned beef on the table. Poor and plain as was her home in the attic of the four-storied tenement house, Annie Moss lived better than most of the needle women in the city. She had no one but herself to support, and as she slept well, ate well and lived cleanly, she had good health and great capacity for work. When the feast was spread she invited Harcourt to draw up his chair—the armchair in which he sat, she said, for he would be more comfortable in that. He obeyed her gratefully. She also sat down at the table, saying that she had not yet taken her own tea and would join him. Annie Moss was pleased to see that her guest made a very satisfactory supper. After it was finished, Harcourt thanked his hostess, and, as it was now very late, asked for the key of his room. Annie got it for him, and then lighted a candle and gave it to him. He thanked her, bade her good-night, and went to his apartment. He found the place as damp, chilly and comfortless as Annie had predicted. “If I had had the sense to write to this good woman, and named the day I was to come back, she would have had everything ready for me, fire made and room aired,” he said to himself, as he raised the window looking out on the bay, and went to the cupboard, from the floor of which he got some waste paper and kindlings, which he piled on the cold hearth, and lighted from the candle Annie had given him with the key. He had soon a bright blaze without a hot fire.