When Joe next opened his eyes and looked out with some surprise on the same world that he was used to, he found himself stretched in his bed and a low gas-flame eyeing him from above. He put out a hand, because he felt queer about the head, and touched bandages. Then some one spoke in his ear. "You want to keep quiet, Mr. Blaine." He looked. A doctor was sitting beside him. "Where's mother?" he asked. "Here I am, Joe." Her voice was sweet in his ears. She was sitting on the bed at his feet. "Come here." She took the seat beside him and folded his free hand with both of hers. "Mother--I want to know what's the matter with me--every bit of it." "Well, Joe, you've a broken arm and a banged-up head, but you'll be all right." "And you--are you all right?" "Perfectly." "They didn't go in the kitchen?" "No." "And the press?" "It's smashed." "And the office?" "In ruins." "How about Rann and the men?" "Bruised--that's all." "The police came?" "Cleaned them out." There was a pause; then Joe and his mother looked at each other with queer expressions on their faces, and suddenly their mellow laughter filled the room. "Isn't it great, mother? That's what we get!" "Well, Joe," said his mother, "what do you expect?" Suddenly then another stood before him--bowed, remorseful, humble. It was Sally Heffer, the tears trickling down her face. She knelt at the bedside and buried her face in the cover. "It's my fault!" she cried. "It's my fault!" "Yours, Sally?" cried Joe, quite forgetting the "Miss." "How so?" "I--I went to Marrin's and got the girls out." "Got the girls out?" Joe exclaimed. "Where are they?" "On the street." "Bring them into the ruins," said Joe, "and organize them. I'm going to make a business of this thing." Sally looked up aghast. "But I--I ought to be shot down. It's I that should have been hurt." Joe smiled on her. "Sally! Sally! what an impetuous girl you are! What would I do without you?" VII OF THE THIRTY THOUSAND One wonderful January twilight, when the clear, cold air seemed to tremble with lusty health, Myra sat alone in the Ramble, before the little frozen pond. And she thought: "This is the bench we sat on; and it was here, that morning, that we quarreled; and this is the little pond; and those the trees--but how changed! how changed!"