She looked about her at the cotton plush furniture of dingy red, at the marble-topped centre table upon whose chilly surface a large, gilt-edged family Bible reposed--placed there by Mrs. Terriberry in the serene confidence that its fair margins would never be defiled through use. Beside the Bible, lay the plush album with its Lombroso-like villainous gallery of countenances upon which transient vandals had pencilled mustaches regardless of sex. She looked at the fly-roost of pampas grass in the sky-blue vase on the shelf from which hung an old-gold lambriquin that represented the highest art of the Kensington cult--water lilies on plush--and at the crowning glory of the parlor, a pier glass in a walnut frame. It was tawdry and cheap and offended her eye, but it was exclusively her own and she looked about her with a keen thrill of pleasure because of the condition which her occupancy of it represented. Somehow it seemed years ago that she had walked around the hole in the ingrain carpet in the bare room which looked out upon the heap of tin-cans and corrals of the Terriberry House. Through the door which opened into her bed-chamber she saw the floor littered with boxes and papers, the new near-silk petticoat draping a chair, the new near-tailored suit which represented the "last cry" from the General Merchandise Store, the Parisian hat which the clairvoyant milliner had seen in a trance and trimmed from memory, but the lines of which suggested that the milliner's astral body had practised a deception and projected itself no further than 14th Street. A fresh realization of what these things meant, namely the personal interest of some one who cared, brought a rush of tears to her eyes. They were still moist when Mr. Richard Kincaid appeared in the parlor, his eyes twinkling above a pillar of boxes and bundles which he carried in his arms. "What's the matter, Esther? What has happened?" He dropped the packages and went to her side. She threw her arms impulsively about his neck and laid her head upon his breast while she said between little sobs of tears and laughter-- "I'm so happy! happy! _happy!_ Uncle Dick--that's all. And so grateful, too. I love you so much that I want to cry, and so happy that I want to laugh. So I do both. I didn't have to learn to love you. I did from the first. It came with a rush just as soon as I found out who you were--that we belonged to each other, you know. All at once I felt so different--so safe--so sure of you, and so secure--and so proud to think we were related. I can't explain exactly, but just being _me_, so long--not knowing who I was or where I came from--and belonging to no one at all--it seems a wonderful thing to have you!" She turned her face to his shoulder and cried softly. He patted her cheek and smiled--a smile that was of sadness and understanding.