"Good-evening, Jerry," he said gravely; "here is thy wife." The young fellow crossed the floor at a bound with a smile that stayed on his face after every vestige of joy had died out of it. The woman gave him a coarse, triumphant stare. "I heard you was lookin' for me," she said, with a chuckle, "but you seemed kind o' s'prised after all." Jerry stood perfectly still, with his hands at his sides. Behind him, where the light fell full upon it, Enoch could see the cradle. The old man placed the satchel on the step. "I must go back and attend to the mail," he said, disappearing in the darkness. A few hours later, just as Enoch had fitted the key in the store door and turned down the kerosene lamp, preparatory to blowing it out, Jerry appeared in the doorway. "I've got to go away on the early train," he said, in a dull, husky voice; "she's going with me. I don't know how long I'll be gone, and I thought I'd like to leave the key of the house with you, if it won't be too much trouble." "It won't be any trouble, Jerry. I'll take care of it for thee," said Enoch. The hand that held out the key seemed to Enoch to be stretched toward him across a chasm. He felt a yearning disgust for the man on the other side. Jerry walked across the platform hesitatingly, and then came back. "Would you mind locking up and coming outside, Mr. Embody?" he asked humbly; "I'd like to have a little talk with you." Enoch blew out the lamp and closed the door and locked it. He felt a physical shrinking from the moral squalor into which he was being dragged. "What is it, Jerry?" he asked kindly. "I've been thinking," said the young man hurriedly, and in the same level, monotonous voice, "that families sometimes come to these new places without having any house ready, and of course it's a good deal of expense for them to board, and I just wanted to say to you that if any person--well, say a widow with a b--family--I wouldn't care to help a man that could rustle for himself--but a woman, you know, if she's not very strong, and has a--a--family--why, I'd just as soon you'd let her have the house, and you needn't say anything about the rent: I'll fix that when I come back. I haven't been to church and put anything in the collection since I've been here,"--his voice gave a suggestion of the old ring, and then fell back drearily,--"so I thought I'd hand you what I'd saved up, and you can use it for charitable purposes--groceries and little things that people might need, coming in without anything to start." He handed Enoch a roll of money, and the old man put it into his pocket. "I'll remember what thee says, Jerry. If any worthy family comes along, I'll see that they do not want."