“By the way, there is a man boarding with one of my poor women, who ought to be got into the Home, if he will go. I don’t know much about him, except that he was in the army, has been very ill with rheumatic fever, and is friendless. I asked Mrs. Flanagin how she managed to keep him, and she said she had help while he was sick, and now he is able to hobble about, he takes care of the children, so she is able to go out to work. He won’t go to his own town, because there is nothing for him there but the almshouse, and he dreads a hospital; so struggles along, trying to earn his bread tending babies with his one arm. A sad case, and in your line; I wish you’d look into it.” “That sounds like my Joe, one arm and all. I’ll go and see him; I’ve a weakness for soldiers, sick or well.” I went, and never shall forget the pathetic little tableau I saw as I opened Mrs. Flanagin’s dingy door; for she was out, and no one heard my tap. The room was redolent of suds, and in a grove of damp clothes hung on lines sat a man with a crying baby laid across his lap, while he fed three small children standing at his knee with bread and molasses. How he managed with one arm to keep the baby from squirming on to the floor, the plate from upsetting, and to feed the hungry urchins who stood in a row with open mouths, like young birds, was past my comprehension. But he did, trotting baby gently, dealing out sweet morsels patiently, and whistling to himself, as if to beguile his labors cheerfully. The broad back, the long legs, the faded coat, the low whistle were all familiar; and, dodging a wet sheet, I faced the man to find it was indeed my Joe! A mere shadow of his former self, after months of suffering that had crippled him for life, but brave and patient still; trying to help himself, and slow to ask aid though brought so low. For an instant I could not speak to him, and, encumbered with baby, dish, spoon, and children, he could only stare at me with a sudden brightening of the altered face that made it full of welcome before a word was uttered. “They told me you were dead, and I only heard of you by accident, not knowing I should find my old friend alive, but not well, I’m afraid?” “There ain’t much left of me but bones and pain, ma’am. I’m powerful glad to see you all the same. Dust off a chair, Patsey, and let the lady set down. You go in the corner, and take turns lickin’ the dish, while I see company,” said Joe, disbanding his small troop, and shouldering the baby as if presenting arms in honor of his guest. “Why didn’t you let me know how sick you were? And how came they to think you dead?” I asked, as he festooned the wet linen out of the way, and prepared to enjoy himself as best he could.