It was with not wholly steady hand that the old man hastened to replace the picture, all the while telling himself what he thought of himself: more low-down than the cat who plays with the mouse, meaner than the man who'd take the bone from the dog, less to be loved than the man who would kick over the child's play-house, only to be compared with the brute who would snatch the cup of water from the dying--such were the verdicts he pronounced. He thought perhaps she would come back, and stayed there until almost seven, waiting for her, though pretending it was necessary that he take down and then put up again the front curtains. All the next day he was restless and irritable. As if to make up to the girl for the contemptible trick he had played he spent a whole hour that afternoon arranging a tapestry background for the picture. “She'll think,” he told himself, “that this was why it was out, and won't be worried about its being gone again. This will just be a little sign to her that it's here to stay.” He began his watch that night at half-past five. After fifteen minutes the thought came to him that she might be so disheartened she would go home by another street. He became so gloomily certain she would do this that he was jubilant when he finally saw her coming along on the other side--coming purposelessly, shorn of that eagerness which had always been able, for the moment, to vanquish the tiredness. But when she came to the place where she always crossed the street she only stood there an instant and then, a little more slowly, a little more droopingly, walked on. She had given up! She was not coming over! But she did come. After she had gone a few steps she hesitated again and this time started across the street. “That's right,” approved the old man, “never give up the ship!” She passed the store as if she were not going to look in; she seemed trying not to look, but her head turned--and she saw the picture. First her body seemed to stiffen, and then something--he couldn't make out whether or not it was a sob--shook her, and as she came toward the picture on her white, tired face were the tears. “Don't you worry,” he murmured affectionately to her retreating form, “it won't never be gone again.” The very next week he was put to the test. The kind of lady who did not often pass along that street entered the shop and asked to see the picture in the window. He looked at her suspiciously. Then he frowned at her, as he stood there, fumbling. _Her_ picture! What would she think? What would she do? Then a crafty smile stole over his face and he walked to the window and got the picture. “The price of this picture, madame,” he said, haughtily, “is forty dollars,”--adding to himself, “That'll fix her.” But the lady made no comment, and stood there holding the picture up before her. “I will take it,” she said, quietly.