It was one of the coldest winters New York had experienced for many years, but the old man’s shrivelled-up heart was, day by day, stretching and expanding towards the girl, who was always gentle. She had many times helped him as he got in and out of the Fifth Avenue stage-coach, and she had often offered to give up her seat in the snug top corner in exchange for his draughty one near the door, but beyond these natural, kindly little attentions, Ada Nicoli had thought little about the old man, whom so many people laughed and poked fun at. He had even taken the trouble to follow her to the private asylum where her mother lived, and would wait there until she came out with her sweet blue eyes filled with sadness. He had heard of her father’s cruel desertion, and many a time the old man could feel his fingers close upon the villain’s neck in his longing to thrash him. On this particular day, when everything was a world of snow, and the temperature was twenty degrees below zero, the old man had been slowly following Ada to her mother’s home. He had long since learnt that Wednesdays were the visiting days in this house of sorrow, and that Ada Nicoli never failed to be there in her lunch hour. The house was in a quiet street, where there was little traffic or noise, and Ada hurried along as fast as her numbed feet would carry her. In the old man’s eyes she had never looked so beautiful, for the cold, crisp air had brought a lovely colour to her cheeks, and her hair was bright gold in the winter sunlight. Suddenly he saw her stop, and bend over something that had fallen in the snow on the side-walk. It was the figure of a man, and from his position it looked as if he was intoxicated, rather than overcome with the cold. There was no one in sight but the old man who was following her. Ada touched the man, and spoke to him, but he could give no coherent answer. He was too drunk to tell her even what his name was. When the old man came up to her she was searching the road with a troubled look. “There is no sleigh in sight,” she said, “and he must not lie here, he will freeze to death.” “Perhaps he ain’t of much account living,” the old man said; “folks like that are better dead.” “Oh, don’t say that,” Ada cried, in a reproachful voice; “he may have a wife and family dependent upon him.” “A mighty poor thing to depend on, lying drunk on the side-walk at midday. Don’t you waste your pity on the likes of him.” The old man knew that he would have been grievously disappointed if his pretty young lady with the sweet blue eyes had gone on her way and left a fellow creature to freeze to death.