He had always worn shoes that some one else had discarded. He could not keep his eyes off them as he walked along the street. His warm underclothing and suit from some rich boy's wardrobe, with new shoes, all in one day, was more than he could stand. He was spotted by one of his friends who was yelling, "Extra Press; read all about it!" Mr. Morton and Jimmie came along and to them he said, "Paper, Mister?" Jimmie raised his eyes from his shoes long enough to say, "Hello, Swipsey! How'd yer like 'em?" "Where'd yer git 'em?" asked Swipsey. "Git 'em? I got 'em, ain't I? How'd yer like 'em?" "Dead swell. Do I git yer old ones?" "Ain't got no old ones; I give 'em ter the shoe store man. We got a funeral at our house ter-day. Me Pa's died." As Morton and a quartet reached the house with the children a wonderful gathering was there to greet them. The old bed had been taken down; the casket had been placed between the two windows. Folding chairs, furnished by the undertaker, were placed in rows before the casket. They were nearly filled by the friends and mourners. Bill Cook sat close by the door, so that he might be free to spit without getting up. "Big Liz" sat next to him, smoking her pipe, but at the sight of Morton she put it under her old apron. Several of the girls from the Dolly resort were there to pay their respects. All the neighbors were there, either in person or by proxy. As the quartet started to sing the old song, "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," every one seemed to take it as a signal to cry. No one seemed to know why they cried; but all did their part in making the funeral a "howling success," as Mrs. Rose said. Before the song was ended "Big Liz" was weeping louder than all the four singers could sing. Morton knew that he must have a brief service, and after a short prayer and Scripture reading he spoke words of comfort to the family and told of Moore's wonderful conversion. As he pictured the glories of heaven that await the redeemed and contrasted them with the awful condition of the unrepentant in sin and hell, every one trembled. Morton was very anxious to bring the people to a decision, and felt that the time had come for a final invitation. Bill Cook's eyes were fastened on Morton and, as he spoke of hell and judgment, he was sure it was all intended for him. "Big Liz" had forgotten the pipe in her lap. It had fallen over and the contents had set her dress on fire. The smell of smoke caused by the burning of cotton, wool, and dirt together did not make a pleasing accompaniment for Morton's words. When the smell reached Bill, he leaped into the middle of the room and shouted, "Hell's here now!" Just at that moment "Big Liz" felt the heat from the fire, and she jumped to Bill's side and said, "Yer right, honey, and I'm sure in it." Morton saw what was causing the trouble, and with the help of the undertaker succeeded in getting Liz out upon the street. He called Bill and told him to help her put out the fire.