It was Michael who asked the question. They were sitting in a small dismal room that Michael had found he could afford to rent in a house on the edge of the alley. Not that he had moved there, oh, no! He could not have endured life if all of it that he could call his own had to be spent in that atmosphere. He still kept his little fourth floor back in the dismally respectable street. He had not gone to the place recommended by Endicott, because he found that the difference he would have to pay would make it possible for him to rent this sad little room near the alley; and for his purposes this seemed to him an absolute necessity at present. The weather was growing too cold for him to meet with his new-old acquaintances of the alley out of doors, and it was little better indoors even if he could have endured the dirt and squalor of those apartments that would have been open to him. Besides, he had a great longing to show them something brighter than their own forlorn homes. There was a settlement house three or four blocks away, but it had not drawn the dwellers in this particular alley. They were sunken too low, perhaps, or there were so many more hopeful quarters in which to work; and the city was so wide and deep and dark. Michael knew little about the settlement house. He had read of such things. He had looked shyly toward its workers now and then, but as yet knew none of them, though they had heard now and again of the “Angel-man of the alley,” and were curious to find him out. But Michael’s enterprise was all his own, and his ways of working were his own. He had gone back into the years of his childhood and found out from his inner consciousness what it was he had needed, and now he was going to try to give it to some other little “kids” who were as forlorn and friendless as he had been. It wasn’t much that he could do, but what he could he would do, and more as soon as possible. And so he had rented this speck of a room, and purified it. He had literally compelled Sam to help him. That compelling was almost a modern miracle, and wrought by radiant smiles, and a firm grip on Sam’s shoulder when he told him what he wanted done. Together they had swept and scrubbed and literally scraped, the dirt from that room. “I don’t see what you’re making sech a darned fuss about dirt fer!” grumbled Sam as he arose from his knees after scrubbing the floor for the fourth time. “It’s what we’re all made of, dey say, an’ nobuddy’ll know de diffrunce.” “Just see if they won’t, Sam,” encouraged Michael as he polished off the door he had been cleaning. “See there, how nice that looks! You didn’t know that paint was gray, did you? It looked brown before, it was so thick with dirt. Now we’re ready for paint and paper!”