"Why, Mamie," he said, halting, "how are you and what are you doing here in the storm?" "I was just wishing I could afford a basket of grapes for mother," she answered, smiling at the sight of a friendly face, "but I can't. I've been out of work now since the firm failed, you see." "I've wondered what became of you," said Winn, his sympathy aroused at once, "and how you were getting on. Where are you working now?" "Nowhere," she answered. "I've been looking for a place for two months and can't find one. Mother gave the firm all her money to invest, and it's gone, and she is very ill. I am completely discouraged." Then once more a righteous curse aimed at Weston almost escaped Winn's lips. "I am very sorry for you, Mamie," he said, "and I wish I could help you." "If you could only find me a place," she replied eagerly, catching at the straw of hope, "I should be so grateful. We are very poor now." "I'll do what I can for you," he said kindly, "and maybe I can help you. I, too, was left stranded by that thief Weston;" and without another word he stepped inside the store and, buying a good supply of fruit, joined the girl outside. "I am going home with you, Mamie," he said cheerfully, "and take your mother some grapes. I've an idea of writing up a history of the Weston & Hill swindle, and I want her story." It was the first time he had thought of it, but it served as a ready excuse. Then with one hand and arm loaded with bundles, and linking the other around the shivering girl's as if she were a child, the two started toward her home. "We have had to move," said the girl, as she directed their way toward the poorer quarters of the city, "and I am ashamed to take you to my home. We have only two rooms now." "Oh, you mustn't mind me," answered Winn, briskly. "I am a fellow-sufferer with you now, you know." When her home was reached in a narrow side street and up three flights of stairs at that, poverty and a woman coughing her life away beside the kitchen stove told the tale. Winn noticed that the supper awaiting the girl was of bread, butter, and tea only. "It was very kind of you to come, Mr. Hardy," said the mother, in an almost tearful voice, when he was introduced; "and if you can find a place for Mamie, it will help us very much." And then she told her story. It need not be repeated--its counterpart may be found by the score in any city where legalized thieving like Weston's scheme ever dupes the credulous, and is as common as the annals of simple drunks. To Winn it was new, for he had no idea his former employer could be so vile as to induce a poor widow to invest her all to meet inevitable loss.