Johnnie brought him, giving not a glance to the great figure bulking on Barber's bed, and shutting the door as soft as he could. He fed the old man, talking to him cheerily all the while. "Cis is goin' t' be married," he recounted, "and have, oh, a swell weddin' trip. And then some day, when she gits back, she'll pop in here again, and tell us a-a-all about it! So now you go s'eepy-s'eepy, and when y' wake, Johnnie'll have some dandy supper f'r y'!" His boy's spirit buoyed up by this picture of great happiness for another, he began to sing as he wheeled Grandpa backward and forward--to sing under his breath, however, so as not to disturb Big Tom! He sang out of his joy over the joy of those two who were just gone out to their new life; and he sang to bring contentment to the heart of the little, old soldier, and sleep to those pale, tired eyes: "Oh, Cis, she's goin' t' be Mrs. Algernon Perkins, And live in a' awful stylish flat. There's a carpet and curtains in the flat, And a man 'most as good as Buckle t' do all the work. And she's goin' t' have a velvet dress, I think, maybe, And plenty o' good things t' eat all the time-- Butter ev-ry day, I guess, and eggs, too, And nice, red apples, if she wants 'em----" And so, caroling on and on, he put old Grandpa to sleep. * * * * * But how his song would have died in his throat if he could have guessed that, of the four who had just left,--those four whom he loved so sincerely--one, and oh, what a dear, dear one, was never to pass across the threshold again! CHAPTER XXXVI LEFT BEHIND EMPTY! He did not enter the tiny room. Now, all at once, it seemed a sacred place, having for so long sheltered her who was sweet and fine. And he felt instinctively that the blue-walled retreat was not for him; that he should not stretch himself out in his soiled, ragged clothes on that dainty couch-shelf where she had lain. He stood on the threshold to look in. How beautiful it was! From to-day forward, would she truly have another any handsomer? The faint perfume of it (just recently she had acquired a fresh stock of orris root) was like a breath from some flower-filled garden--such a garden as he had read about in _The Story of Aladdin_. And yes, the little cell itself was like one of Aladdin's caskets from which had been taken a precious jewel. Just now it was a casket very much in disarray, for Cis had tumbled it in wind-storm fashion as she made ready to leave, carelessly throwing down several things that she had formerly handled delicately: the paper roses, the sliver of mirror, the pretty face of a moving-picture favorite. As for that box flounced with bright crepe paper, it was ignominiously heaved to one side. And that cherished likeness of Mr. Roosevelt was hanging slightly askew.