Buck was respectably dressed in an old suit of Sam’s, with his hands and face carefully washed and his hair combed. Sam had imbibed ideas and was not slow to impart them. But Buck stood dark and frowning against the closed door, his hunted eyes like black coals in a setting of snow, went furtively around the room in restless vigilance. His body wore the habitual air of crouching alertness. He started slightly when anyone moved or spoke to him. Michael went quickly over to the table and turned down the lamp. “You won’t mind sitting in the firelight, will you?” he said to Starr in a low tone, and her eyes told him that she understood. “Come over here, Buck,” said Michael motioning toward the sheltered corner on the other side of the fireplace from where Starr was sitting. “This is one of my friends, Miss Endicott, Mr. Endicott. Will you excuse us if we sit here and talk a few minutes? Miss Endicott, you remember my telling you of Buck?” Starr with sudden inspiration born of the moment, got up and went over to where the dark-browed Buck stood frowning and embarrassed in the chimney corner and put out her little roseleaf of a hand to him. Buck looked at it in dismay and did not stir. “Why don’t yer shake?” whispered Sam. Then with a grunt of astonishment Buck put out his rough hand and underwent the unique experience of holding a lady’s hand in his. The hunted eyes looked up startled to Starr’s and like a flash he saw a thought. It was as if her eyes knew Browning’s poem and could express his thought to Buck in language he could understand: “All I could never be, All men ignored in me, This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.” Somehow, Starr, with her smile and her eyes, and her gentle manner, unknowingly conveyed that thought to Buck! Poor, neglected, sinful Buck! And Michael, looking on, knew what she had done, and blessed her in his heart. Buck sat down in the chimney corner, half in shadow with the lights from the great log flaring over his face. The shades were all drawn down, the doors were closed. He was surrounded by friendly faces. For a few minutes the hunted eyes ceased their roving round the room, and rested on Starr’s sweet face as she sat quietly, holding her father’s hand. It was a sight such as poor Buck’s eyes had never rested upon in the whole of his checkered existence, and for the moment he let the sweet wonder of it filter into his dark, scarred soul, with blessed healing. Then he looked from Starr to Michael’s fine face near by, tender with the joy of Buck’s coming, anxious with what might be the outcome; and for a moment the heavy lines in forehead and brow that Buck had worn since babyhood softened with a tender look. Perhaps ’tis given, once to even the dullest soul to see, no matter how low fallen, just what he might have been.