Why, it was the girl, of course. Micky's freckled face softened, his eyes grew wistful as the explanation occurred to him. Could he not trace, in a thousand and one little ways, a change in his life since she came into it? Assuredly, and for the better. Micky acknowledged frankly to himself that his love for her, and hers for him, was Christianizing him; not in a concrete sense, to be sure, for O'Byrn's thoughts were little concerned with religion, as such. Thrown upon his own resources at an early age, he was essentially a world-product; but now, through this love for a girl,--a new experience for him,--the little Irishman was undergoing a refining process that surprised even himself. No startling change was there, but in a multitude of little ways was shown the gentle influence of this new element in Micky's life. More of tenderness; more potent impulses to kindliness; free-flowing charity toward all. For, in the beatific dawn of love, is a summons for the best in poor, dross-ridden human nature to arise; and, at least temporarily, the happy lover radiates peace and good will toward all mankind. So Micky, sauntering thoughtfully along, continued superfluously to reflect upon his irreverence to the poor old man,--who probably had not minded it half as much as O'Byrn did,--until the recurrent thoughts of Maisie banished the incident from his mind. He was dancing with her at the Ironworkers' ball, he sat with her in the little parlor, he heard the sweet voice of her--and it was with a distinct sense of bewilderment that he awoke to find himself halted mechanically before the little house in which she lay. Advancing doubtfully, half fearfully, he rang the bell. The door opened and Maisie's mother greeted him. No, she said, Maisie was not seriously ill, was quite comfortable. She had been asking for him, would be glad he had come. Indeed, said Mrs. Muldoon, she had been wondering if he would come. "Come?" echoed Micky, as he followed her in. "Come? Why, I've been thinkin' of her ever since I heard it. Gee! I'm glad she's feelin' so well. Hello, Terence!" He clutched playfully, in a rush of relieved feeling, at the thick thatch of the youngest Muldoon, who stood agape in the doorway, eyeing him. Terence grinned and took to his heels. Maisie's mother ushered Micky upstairs. A light streamed through a partially opened door at the end of the hall. It was from Maisie's room, and Micky entered slowly, timidly,--as a devotee would approach a shrine. As it had been through a mist, for the blood rushed tumultuously to his head, he saw her sweet face, radiant with welcome and love for him; saw the little white hands, eagerly outstretched toward him. In an instant they were lost to sight within his trembling own; he bent over her, murmuring broken words, with an odd choke in his throat and big tears gathering in his eyes. He winked them indignantly, strove to clear his burred throat. The attempt ended dismally in a strangling gasp.