He threw some kindlings from a basket upon the fire, and they leaped into flame before he could light the lamp on his table. The room became a pleasant place at once, as any room must in fire- and lamp-light, so that it contain such few essentials of living as did Brown's--the red-cushioned chair by the hearth, the books and magazines upon the table, the two fine portraits on the wall. "Now, please make yourselves comfortable," Brown urged, indicating the austere little bedroom his friends remembered. "And if you'll do that I'll go at the joyous task of getting you some supper." "You must let us help you," Mrs. Brainard offered. "Never! What could you do, either of you, in a bachelor's kitchen?" "But we want to see the bachelor at work there." "Your presence might upset me," he called back, laughing, as he hurried away. Two minutes later, after an inspection of his larder, he was rushing up the street to the corner grocery, having escaped by way of the back door. If any of his friends of this quarter had happened to meet him under one of the scanty street lamps, they might have noted that the dark face, in these days usually so sober, to-night was alight with eagerness. Donald Brown's eyes were glowing, there was a touch of clear, excited colour on his cheek. His lips were all but smiling as he strode along. One hand was already in his pocket, feeling critically of the probable contents of the purse he longed to empty, to make a little feast for his so-welcome guests. Arrived at Jim Burke's small store, the customer scanned the place anxiously, and it seemed to him that its supplies had never been so meagre. He succeeded in buying his lettuce, however, and a bottle of salad oil, and, remembering a can of asparagus tips on his own shelves, congratulated himself upon the attainment of his salad. Some eggs which the grocer swore were above reproach, and some small bakery cakes, completed the possibilities of the place for quick consumption. Brown ran back to the house again, his arms full of parcels, his mind struggling with the incredible fact that under his roof was housed, if only for an hour or two, the one being whom he would give all but his soul to keep. Entering his kitchen by its outer door he stopped short upon the threshold. A figure in a white blouse, blue serge skirt, and little white, beruffled apron, was arranging his table. The table had been drawn into the middle of the room, his simple supplies of linen and silver had been discovered, and the preparations were nearly complete. In the middle of the table in a glass bowl was a huge bunch of violets, come from he could not have guessed where, even if he had given any thought to the attempt.