"John," said Mary,--her husband had come in unexpectedly,--"our neighbor, Mrs. Riley." John's bow was rather formal, and Mrs. Riley soon rose and said good-evening. "John," said the wife again, laying her hands on his shoulders as she tiptoed to kiss him, "what troubles you?" Then she attempted a rallying manner: "Don't my friends suit you?" He hesitated only an instant, and said:-- "Oh, yes, that's all right!" "Well, then, I don't see why you look so." "I've finished the task I was to do." "What! you haven't"-- "I'm out of employment." They went and sat down on the little hair-cloth sofa that Mrs. Riley had just left. "I thought they said they would have other work for you." "They said they might have; but it seems they haven't." "And it's just in the opening of summer, too," said Mary; "why, what right"-- "Oh!"--a despairing gesture and averted gaze--"they've a perfect right if they think best. I asked them that myself at first--not too politely, either; but I soon saw I was wrong." They sat without speaking until it had grown quite dark. Then John said, with a long breath, as he rose:-- "It passes my comprehension." "What passes it?" asked Mary, detaining him by one hand. "The reason why we are so pursued by misfortunes." "But, John," she said, still holding him, "_is_ it misfortune? When I know so well that you deserve to succeed, I think maybe it's good fortune in disguise, after all. Don't you think it's possible? You remember how it was last time, when A., B., & Co. failed. Maybe the best of all is to come now!" She beamed with courage. "Why, John, it seems to me I'd just go in the very best of spirits, the first thing to-morrow, and tell Dr. Sevier you are looking for work. Don't you think it might"-- "I've been there." "Have you? What did he say?" "He wasn't in." * * * There was another neighbor, with whom John and Mary did not get acquainted. Not that it was more his fault than theirs; it may have been less. Unfortunately for the Richlings there was in their dwelling no toddling, self-appointed child commissioner to find his way in unwatched moments to the play-ground of some other toddler, and so plant the good seed of neighbor acquaintanceship. This neighbor passed four times a day. A man of fortune, aged a hale sixty or so, who came and stood on the corner, and sometimes even rested a foot on Mary's door-step, waiting for the Prytania omnibus, and who, on his returns, got down from the omnibus step a little gingerly, went by Mary's house, and presently shut himself inside a very ornamental iron gate, a short way up St. Mary street. A child would have made him acquainted. Even as it was, they did not escape his silent notice. It was pleasant for him, from whose life the early dew had been dried away by a well-risen sun, to recall its former freshness by glimpses of this pair of young beginners. It was like having a bird's nest under his window.