An assortment of idlers, tramps, and thieves had drifted into the Square and crowded its seats. A drunken woman, her slouchy black dress bedraggled and drenched from the rain, lurched across the walk, dropped on a bench and sat muttering curses at a carriage on the north side. He had often looked at those flashing windows in the millionaire's row beside Fifth Avenue and then at the grim figures of the human wolves and reptiles that crawled into the Square from below Fourth Street, and wondered what might happen if they should really meet. But to-day he gazed with unseeing eyes. There was on all the earth no poverty, no crime, no shame, no despair, no pain, no conflict. The splendour of the sunset was in his soul and the world was athrob with joy. His reveries were broken by a timid knock on the door and a faint call: "Jim!" "Come in!" he cried. "You're not a bit glad to see me," the soft voice said. "I've been standing out there for ages!" "Forgive me, Sunshine, I must have been dreaming," Stuart pleaded, leaping from his seat and seizing her hand. "I'm awfully glad to see you!" "Then, don't call me that name again," she pouted. "Why not?" "Because it's undignified. All nicknames are." "But isn't it beautiful?" "It would be if my hair wasn't red and I didn't have freckles and was older," she protested, looking away to hide her emotion. "But your hair isn't quite red. It's just the colour of the gold in honeycomb," he answered, gently touching her dishevelled locks--"besides, those few little freckles are becoming on your pink and white skin--and you are nearly fifteen." "Well, my hair is red enough to make me think you're teasing when you call me Sunshine," she replied demurely. "Then I won't call you that any more. I'll just say, little pal--how's that?" "That's better!" she said with a smile and sigh. "Oh, Jim, I've been so dreadfully lonely since you were away! Where did you go? And why did you stay so long? And why didn't you write me more than one little letter? And why didn't you answer the one I wrote in reply?--You know I'm almost an orphan anyhow. Papa spends nearly all his time at the factory, the drug store, the dispensary, and visiting his patients. I declare, Jim, I'll die if you go away again. I just can't stand it." She dropped at last into a chair exhausted. Stuart smilingly took her hand: "Lonely, Miss Chatterbox--when that big father of yours worships the very ground you walk on!" "Yes, I know he does, Jim, and I love him, too, but you've no idea how dreadfully still the house is when you are gone. Oh, say! I'll tell you what I want--tell me you'll do what I ask--promise me! Say you will!" "What is it?" "I want you to be a real boarder, and eat with us! And when Papa's gone, I'll sit at the head of the table, smile and pour your tea. You'll do it, won't you? Say yes--of course you will!" "But, my dear child, your father don't take boarders----"