On both sides of her along the walls she felt things creeping, damp souls that haunted this palace, this town, this North. "Oh, send somebody--send somebody!" she cried aloud. Clark Darrow--he would understand; or Joe Ewing; she couldn't be left here to wander forever--to be frozen, heart, body, and soul. This her--this Sally Carrol! Why, she was a happy thing. She was a happy little girl. She liked warmth and summer and Dixie. These things were foreign--foreign. "You're not crying," something said aloud. "You'll never cry any more. Your tears would just freeze; all tears freeze up here!" She sprawled full length on the ice. "Oh, God!" she faltered. A long single file of minutes went by, and with a great weariness she felt her eyes dosing. Then some one seemed to sit down near her and take her face in warm, soft hands. She looked up gratefully. "Why it's Margery Lee," she crooned softly to herself. "I knew you'd come." It really was Margery Lee, and she was just as Sally Carrol had known she would be, with a young, white brow, and wide welcoming eyes, and a hoop-skirt of some soft material that was quite comforting to rest on. "Margery Lee." It was getting darker now and darker--all those tombstones ought to be repainted sure enough, only that would spoil 'em, of course. Still, you ought to be able to see 'em. Then after a succession of moments that went fast and then slow, but seemed to be ultimately resolving themselves into a multitude of blurred rays converging toward a pale-yellow sun, she heard a great cracking noise break her new-found stillness. It was the sun, it was a light; a torch, and a torch beyond that, and another one, and voices; a face took flesh below the torch, heavy arms raised her and she felt something on her cheek--it felt wet. Some one had seized her and was rubbing her face with snow. How ridiculous--with snow! "Sally Carrol! Sally Carrol!" It was Dangerous Dan McGrew; and two other faces she didn't know. "Child, child! We've been looking for you two hours! Harry's half-crazy!" Things came rushing back into place--the singing, the torches, the great shout of the marching clubs. She squirmed in Patton's arms and gave a long low cry. "Oh, I want to get out of here! I'm going back home. Take me home"---her voice rose to a scream that sent a chill to Harry's heart as he came racing down the next passage--"to-morrow!" she cried with delirious, unstrained passion--"To-morrow! To-morrow! To-morrow!" VI The wealth of golden sunlight poured a quite enervating yet oddly comforting heat over the house where day long it faced the dusty stretch of road. Two birds were making a great to-do in a cool spot found among the branches of a tree next door, and down the street a colored woman was announcing herself melodiously as a purveyor of strawberries. It was April afternoon.