ed of her wasted
life and formed a brave resolution to merit the friendship so generously
extended her.

But it was hard work at first. She could get through the days easily
enough by wandering in the woods and taking long walks along the rugged
country roads; but in the evenings came the insistent call of the cafes,
the cheap orchestras, vaudeville, midnight suppers and the like. She
strenuously fought this yearning and found it was growing less and less
powerful to influence her. But her nights were yet restless and her
nerves throbbing from the effects of past dissipations. Often she would
find herself unable to sleep and would go out into the moonlight when
all others were in bed, and "prowl around with the cats," as she
expressed it, until the wee hours of morning. Often she told Patsy she
wished there was more work she could do. The drawings required by the
paper never occupied her more than a couple of hours each day.
Sometimes she made one of her cleverest cartoons in fifteen or twenty
minutes.

"Can't I do something else?" she begged. "Let me set type, or run the
ticker--I can receive telegrams fairly well--or even write a column of
local comment. I'm no journalist, so you'll not be envious."

But Patsy shook her head.

"Really, Hetty, there's nothing else you can do, and your pictures are
very important to us. Rest and enjoy yourself, and get strong and well.
You are improving wonderfully in health since you came here."

Often at midnight Hetty would wander into the pressroom and watch
Thursday Smith run off the edition on the wonderful press, which seemed
to possess an intelligence of its own, so perfectly did it perform its
functions. At such times she sat listlessly by and said little, for
Thursday was no voluble talker, especially when busied over his press.
But a certain spirit of comradeship grew up between these two, and it
was not unusual for the pressmen, after his work was finished and the
papers were neatly piled for distribution to the carriers at daybreak,
to walk with Hetty to the hotel before proceeding to his own lodgings in
the little wing of Nick Thorne's house, which stood quite at the end of
the street. To be sure, the hotel adjoined the printing office, with
only a vacant lot between, but Hetty seemed to appreciate this courtesy
and would exchange a brief good night with Smith before going to her own
room. Afterward she not infrequently stole out again, because sleep
would not come t