“This is John Halloran, dear,” said his wife, turning. “He has come to take George away. George's grandfather, he tells me, is really quite respectable.” Mr. Bigelow had shaken off the children and was getting into his overcoat. “It is just as well,” he replied, without looking around. “We really have no work for him here.” At this moment the subject of the talk himself appeared, advancing bashfully, overcome by the splendour about him, and not yet knowing why he had been summoned. He looked at Halloran for a moment before he recognized him. “How are you, George,” said Halloran, advancing and holding out his hand. “Do you remember me?” George blushed, grinned and took his hand; and as he did so, Mr. Bigelow, with his coat buttoned and one glove on, turned around. He looked at George--a tall, awkward, ill-dressed boy of sixteen--with a curious, gruff expression, then his eyes shot one quick, inquiring look at Halloran. “You'll excuse me,” he said, recovering. And without speaking further he went out and shut the door hard behind him. “Come, George,” said Halloran; “I'm going to take you to a new home. Have you any truck to carry?” “Nothing much.” “Get your coat, then, and come along.” “When they had reached the tenement and were nearly at the top of the stairway Halloran pushed George ahead. “Go in there, George. You'll find them together.”. “Yes, I hear 'em talking. But ain't you coming?” “No, not yet. Go ahead.” George opened the door and Halloran went back a little way down the stairs and sat down. It was dark and dirty. On all sides, above and below, were noises--babies squalling, men and women quarreling--but he heard little; his thoughts were speeding of! to the eastern mountains. There was a young woman in those mountains--where the leaves were beginning to turn, perhaps, as here in the West--only a thousand miles away. What had he been waiting for? Was it for her to write? How had he supposed her answer was to come? What stood in the way--circumstances? Some other one? Or was it that the only obstacle was a certain person sitting, at this moment, on a dark stairway in a tenement? More likely the latter--but how was he to discover it so close home? It was rather more fun to be miserable. Family reunion on one side of his thoughts, all hopes a thousand miles removed on the other side--on the whole, he preferred dark stairways. “Mr. Halloran, are you there? It's so dark I can't see.” “Yes; coming right up.” “I was afraid you'd get away from us.” “No, but I must be off now.” They were entering the room. “Le Duc wants you all over there to supper.” “Over there?” “Yes.” “You mustn't go now, Mr. Halloran. He asked you, too, didn't he? Of course he did.” “Why, I'd like to, but---- “Now, see here, after the turn things have taken we couldn't have the supper without you. That's a part of it, you see--it's the way I planned it. You've got to come.” “Well, if you feel that way------”