But at the sound of returning footsteps she sprang backward, clasping her hands behind her. A copper-haired woman with a copper-haired child in the curve of her arm moved through the lighted front room and toward them. Her smile was upturned, with a dimple low in one cheek, like a star in the cradle of a crescent moon. Charley Scully turned his vivid face toward her. "Till," he cried, "she come, anyway. Looka, she's come!" "Yes, I--I've come," said Marjorie Clark. There was a layer of hysteria in her voice. THE END End of Project Gutenberg's Every Soul Hath Its Song, by Fannie Hurst