ng. "Guess not. They don't have
'em these days. The stories about 'em read well. Wonder what kind of a
feeling it was that started those boys off on the hike! Perhaps there
wasn't enough doing in politics. It must have been a fine game, though,
rescuing distressed damsels. And all for love and not for pay!"

A poster in the window of an empty store caught his eye just then. It
advertised a woman's-suffrage rally.

"The girls would paint rally signs on a knight's tin suit these days and
send him off on an advertising trip," was his whimsical reflection.

At that moment, with this thought of knight in armor in his mind, he was
attracted by a flare of red fire in a blacksmith shop located just off
the street. The one worker in the place was revealed by the forge fire.
The glow lighted the features of the man. There was no mistaking him--it
was Friend Jared Chick. And Farr turned off the street and went into the
shop and greeted his one-time traveling companion.

"How does thee do?" replied Jared Chick, quietly, his Quaker calm
undisturbed. He drew forth a white-hot iron and deftly hammered it into
a circle around the snout of the anvil.

"So you have given up knight-errantry and have gone back to the old job,
have you, Friend Chick?"

"No. This is a part of my service. The man who owns this shop is a good
man who works hard here all day. And after he has gone home he allows me
to work here in the evening."

He pounded away industriously and Farr walked up to the anvil to inspect
the nature of the work, for the iron rod was assuming queer shapes.

"A new kind of armor, Friend Chick?"

If there was a bit of sarcasm in Farr's tone the Quaker paid no apparent
heed.

"No," he said, quietly and meekly, "this is a brace for the leg of a
little lame boy. I have found many children in this city who cannot
walk. Their parents are too poor to buy braces. So I come here nights,
when the good man is away from the forge, and I make braces and carry
them with my blessing. I have some knack with the hammer. I hope to find
other ways of doing my bit of good."

"I beg your pardon, Friend Chick," said Farr, a catch in his voice. "I
will not bother you in your work. Good night!"

"Good night to thee!" said the Quaker, swinging at the bellows arm.

Farr went back upon the street, his head bowed. "We all have our own way
of doing it," he pondered, contritely.

He met a man and greeted him with a friendly handclasp. It was Citize