"Allow you!" said Livingstone, "I give you _carte blanche_, only have everything ready by five o'clock.--Ask the cook to send up whatever she has; I'm hungry, and we'll talk it over whilst I'm taking supper." "Yes, sir; yes, sir; yes, sir;" and James withdrew with a step as light as air. "Extraordinary servant!" thought Livingstone. "Wonder I never took it in before!" Ten minutes later Livingstone was seated at the table with an appetite like a schoolboy's. It was the happiest meal Livingstone had eaten in many a long day; for, all alone as he was, he was not alone. Thought-of-others sat at the board and a cheery companion it is. "Tell the laundress to be sure and bring her children around to-morrow, and be sure you make them have a good time," he said to James, as he rose from the table. James bowed. "Yes, sir." "And ascertain where policeman, No. 268, is to be found to-morrow. I want to send a contribution to make a good slide for some boys on his beat." James bowed again, his eyes somewhat wider than before. As Livingstone mounted the stair, though he was sensible of fatigue it was the fatigue of the body, so delicious to those who have known that of the mind. And he felt pity as well as loathing for the poor, worn creature who had climbed the same stair a few hours before. As he entered his room the warmth and home feeling had come back there also. The portraits of his father and mother first caught his eye. Some one had put a wreath around each and they seemed to beam on him with a pleased and tender smile. They opened afresh the flood-gates of memory for him, but the memories were sweet and tender. He glanced at a mirror almost with trembling. The last time he had looked at himself he had seen only that old, haggard face with the ghostly figures branded across the brow. Thank God! they were gone now, and he could even see in his face some faint resemblance to the portraits on the wall.