When they reached her door, she held out her hand. “I’m awful glad to have met you, Mr. Benton. Hope I’ll see you again?” “May I call?” he asked eagerly. “Why sure you can. I’ll be glad to have you any time you say.” “How about—to-morrow evening?” “Gee! You believe in rushin’ things, don’t you?” She giggled. “All right—to-morrow evenin’ ’ll be fine.” She hurried upstairs and crawled into bed with three little sisters. Soon she was dreaming about a boy with wonderful dark eyes and curly hair. As Howard walked the remaining three blocks to his home, he wondered what had happened to him. He felt so happy and light-hearted. The sensation of loneliness that had made him so miserable only yesterday, seemed suddenly to have disappeared. As he inserted his key in the lock, he felt like whistling or humming a tune, and it was only the remembrance of the lateness of the hour that kept him from yielding to his inclination. “Howard!” Marjorie called from her room as she heard him come in. He started suddenly as he opened her door and peered into the darkness: “What are you doing awake as late as this, dearest? Are you feeling better?” “Of course, dear. I told you I was all right before you left. Did you have a good time?” “Yes, mother, I had a dandy time.” “I’m so glad. To-morrow you shall tell me all about it. You must be tired after so much dancing. Good-night, darling.” “Good-night, dearest.” He bent over and kissed her tenderly. Instead of undressing and hurrying into bed, he walked to the window in his room and opened it wide, staring out upon the fire-escapes filled with lines of washing. He still couldn’t imagine what had happened to him that night; and he was trying to fathom it. He wasn’t thinking of the dance or the girl he had met. He was thinking that he had left his home heavy-hearted and terribly worried over his beloved mother, and yet he had come back a few hours later in such a state of exultation, that he had forgotten all about her until she startled him by calling his name. It almost frightened him—this thing that had taken possession of him—and that he couldn’t explain, even to himself! The next morning he slept until almost noon for Marjorie always let him rest as long as he pleased on Sunday. He opened his eyes greatly refreshed in mind and body. The feeling of light-heartedness still remained with him. He could have started singing joyously—for some unaccountable reason. But the anxious and worried feeling about his mother he had the night before had disappeared. Somehow things appear so different in the daylight than they do in the darkness. He sat down to the tempting breakfast Marjorie placed before him. “Umm—mother—waffles and maple-syrup? Just what I feel like eating. Aren’t you going to have some?” “No, indeed!” she laughed. “I’ve had my breakfast hours ago. It’s noon, dear, but I knew you were tired after last night, so I just let you sleep it out.” “I’m glad you did; I feel thoroughly rested.”