It was now the very end of September, and autumn was more than ever in the air. There was none of the chill ocean breath which in Boston had already begun to make itself unpleasantly evident, and Helen found the keenest enjoyment in walking about the city, which heretofore she had seen principally from the windows of street cars and taxicabs. It was about three o'clock of a Saturday afternoon at the close of her second week in New York that she started northward up Fifth Avenue, casting, as she turned, one backward look at the beauty of the Washington Arch, white in the sunshine. She herself, after the first few blocks, took the west side of the avenue, for the afternoon sun was unexpectedly warm. When she came to Fourteenth Street, she paused to allow the passage of a number of street cars and other vehicles which were figuratively champing their bits till the Jove-like person in blue set them free to move. And as she stood there, she became aware of a voice behind her, which said:-- "You have chosen a beautiful day for a walk, Miss Maitland," and turning, she faced Mr. Richard Smith of the Guardian. "Why, how do you do!" the girl said, holding out her hand with frank cordiality. "I'm very glad to see you. Would it flatter you if I said I was thinking of you this morning?" "It would," said Smith, soberly. "It does not do to flatter me. I don't get over it easily. I don't go so far as to forbid it, you understand, to those who know me, but I recognize it as being as seductive and alluring and dangerous as any delightful but deadly drug, and I usually flee from it accordingly." "Well, there's really no reason why you should flee from it now--unless it is a pecuniary reason," said Miss Maitland, smiling. "But in case you should start to escape, perhaps I had better modify my statement and say that I was actually thinking of that old harness maker and wondering when you were coming to tell me about ways and means of keeping him in business." "I had hoped to do so before this," the other replied. "I wrote the Guardian agent at Robbinsville on the same day you visited the office, but I've had nothing to report until to-day." "And have you now? What is it?" "This morning I received a letter from our agent. He said that the creditors had held a protracted meeting, and there was one irritating old party who kept suggesting that the poorhouse was the inevitable solution; but finally arrangements were made by which our old friend can keep his shop as long as he lives. They trusteed the business, I believe." Helen was silent, and for a little space the two walked forward without a word. At last the girl lifted her eyes to Smith's a little wistfully. "I'm glad he can keep his shop," she said; "and yet in one way I'm rather sorry that the creditors agreed. I would have liked to have helped the old man, myself, and I think it would have been rather good fun to have financed a harness business."