"Now, Edith, to the story," said Mrs. Jarney, after they had seated themselves around the sumptuously provided table. "What is that?" asked Mr. Jarney, looking at his wife, and for the first time getting an inkling of Edith's experiences, then turning his eyes questioningly upon Edith. "Nothing serious, papa," said Edith, noting that he was surprised over the manner in which her mother had put the question. "Well, then, dear Edith, go on," said her father, in his usually kind tone. "Promise, papa, that you will not be hard on me?" pressed Edith. "As long as you have done no wrong, Edith, I promise," he replied. Then Edith related her tale, down to the minutest detail, even as to how it affected her afterwards--except that she kept the impression that it left upon her heart as her own inviolable secret. "Edith," said her father, after she had finished, and after he had pondered a few moments over the possible effect on the young man in the office, and after smiling and laughing heartily, "Edith, it certainly is a peculiar coincidence. I am glad to know the party turned out to be our newest addition to the office force, and not a ruffian." This ended the general conversation about John Winthrope. None of them considered the event in any other light than if she had had a similar encounter with the ash-man--except Edith. But still they did not cease referring to the matter occasionally for some time, for after all they could not help but marvel on it. Edith was unusually cheerful after she found her parents were not vexed. She sang and played on the piano, read a few pages in a novel, talked, laughed, went up and down the rooms, wondering, wondering what it was that agitated her so and raised her spirits to such a high tension. Finally, after what appeared to be an age in passing, she became weary, and went to bed, to sleep, and dream, perhaps, of a fair young man, miles and miles below her station in life. And the rain beat down upon the roof above her with the same homely sound as it beat down upon the roofs above all mankind that night. CHAPTER III. THE OLD JUNK SHOP. The rusty perspective of a four story building rises in the midst of many similarly nondescript structures, between Wood and Liberty streets, looking out over the cobblestoned wharf skirting the Monongahela river, flowing lazily by.