for he had gone out a second time and made
a number of delightful, although meagre purchases.

"No signs," said M'riar. "Yn't see a sign of 'er. But hit cawn't be
long before she'll be 'ere, can it?"

"No, M'riar; not long."

The place was poorly furnished. Marks of poverty, indeed, were
everywhere; but upon the little table with its oil-cloth cover, soon
began to show, as he brought package after package from his pockets,
an array of goodies which amazed M'riar greatly. From the little
gas-pipe chandelier which hung above the table (fly-specked and badly
rusted before M'riar's busy hands had done their best to polish it,
and still uncouth in its plain iron and sharp angles), he hung a
little wreath of evergreen. Out of a package, with the utmost care, he
produced a frosted cake.

"See, M'riar!" he cried.

"Hi sye!" said M'riar, examining it with distant care as if she feared
that it would either break or bite. "Won't she be took haback?"

"And," said Herr Kreutzer, delving busily in a pocket of his long,
limp, overcoat, "a bottle of good wine."

"My heye!" said M'riar, awed and gaping admiration. "She _will_ be
took haback!"

"And, see again?" said Kreutzer, taking other treasures out of
packages and pockets, including a roast fowl, and celery and other
fixings. "It is not often, lately, that I have my Anna with me. When
she comes, then we must do what we can do to make her welcome." He
might have added that it was not often that a little stroke of luck
brought him in money for a celebration such as this, but did not.

"_Such_ a feast!" said M'riar.

"Ah, it is something," said the flute-player. "It is little I can do.
I earn so little in this country--less, even, than I earned in London;
and here all things cost so much--_more_, even, than they cost in
London."

M'riar went to the window, after having seen the good things, while
his hands went to his pocket and brought from it the door-key and a
pocket-knife. He laughed a little bitterly. "The little feast has cost
the last cent in my pocket! When night comes I must walk back to the
Garden!... Well what matter? Anna is not suffering, and to-day she
will be happy here with me."

"Hi, she's comin'," M'riar screamed and dashed out of the room.

Herr Kreutzer gazed after her with a wide smile of toleration. She had
not been a nuisance; she had been very useful. "I worried when we
found her on the ship," said he, "and here she is, my housekeeper,
while An