A tall man and two ragged little girls were staring at the dolls also. Both the girls were miserably thin, and one of them had a bruise on her cheek. The man was much too well clad and prosperous to belong to them. He stroked a drooping black mustache, and said, in the voice of a man accustomed to pet children, whether clean or dirty, “Like these dolls better than yours, sissy?”—at the same time smiling at the girl with the bruised cheek. A sharp little pipe answered, “I ’ain’t got no doll, mister.” “No, she ’ain’t,” added the other girl; “but _I_ got one, only it ’ain’t got no right head. Pa stepped on its head. I let her play with it, and we made a head outer a corn-cob. It ain’t a very good head.” “I guess not,” said the man, putting some silver into her hand; “there, you take that, little sister, and you go in and buy two dolls, one for each of you; and you tell the young lady that waits on you just what you told me. And if there is any money left, you go on over to that bakery and fill up with it.” The children gave him two rapid, bewildered glances, clutched the money, and darted into the store without a word. The man’s smiling eyes as they turned away encountered Miss Abbie’s, in which was a troubled interest. She had taken a piece of silver from her own purse. He smiled, as perceiving a kindly impulse that matched his own; and she, to her own later surprise, smiled too. The smile changed in a flash to a startled look; all the color drifted out of her face, and she took a step forward so hastily that she stumbled on her skirt. Recovering herself, she dropped her purse; and a man who had just approached went down on one knee to pick it up. But the tall man was too quick for him; a long arm swooped in between the other’s outstretched hand and the gleaming bit of lizard-skin on the bricks. The new-comer barely avoided a collision. He did not take the escape with good-humor, scowling blackly as he made a scramble, while still on his knee, at something behind the tall man’s back. This must have been a handkerchief, since he immediately presented a white flutter to Miss Courtlandt, bowing and murmuring, “You dropped this too, I guess, madam.” “Yes, thank you,” stammered Miss Courtlandt; “thank you very much, Mr. Slater.” She entered the store by his side, but at the door she turned her head for a parting nod of acknowledgment to the other. He remained a second longer, staring at the dolls, and gnawing the ends of his mustache, not irritated, but sharply thoughtful.