o pose as her friend. Beside the
devotion of the man who had just left him, his own scant kindness to her
children seemed ridiculous.

He went to bed, but tossed uneasily until he fancied he heard stealthy
footsteps outside his door and in the passage. Even then he thought of
getting up, dressing, and going out to bid farewell to the fugitives.
But even while he was thinking of it he fell asleep and did not wake
until the sun was shining in at his windows.

He sprang to his feet, threw on his dressing-gown, and peered into the
passage. Everything was silent. He stepped outside--the light streamed
into the hall from the open doors and windows of both rooms--the floor
was empty; not a trace of the former occupants remained. He was turning
back when his eye fell upon the battered wooden doll set upright against
his doorjamb, holding stiffly in its jointed arms a bit of paper folded
like a note. Opening it, he found a few lines written in pencil.

God bless you for your kindness to us, and try to forgive me for
touching your papers. But I thought that you would detect it, know WHY I
did it, and then help us, as you did! Good-by!

MAMIE BODINE.

Mr. Breeze laid down the paper with a slight accession of color, as if
its purport had been ironical. How little had he done compared to the
devotion of this delicate woman or the sacrifices of that rough friend!
How deserted looked this nest under the eaves, which had so long borne
its burden of guilt, innocence, shame, and suffering! For many days
afterwards he avoided it except at night, and even then he often found
himself lying awake to listen to the lost voices of the children.

But one evening, a fortnight later, he came upon Roberts in the hall.
"Well," said Breeze, with abrupt directness, "did he get away?"

Roberts started, uttered an oath which it is possible the Recording
Angel passed to his credit, and said, "Yes, HE got away all right!"

"Why, hasn't his wife joined him?"

"No. Never, in this world, I reckon; and if anywhere in the next, I
don't want to go there!" said Roberts furiously.

"Is he dead?"

"Dead? That kind don't die!"

"What do you mean?"

Roberts's lips writhed, and then, with a strong effort, he said with
deliberate distinctness, "I mean--that the hound went off with another
woman--that--was--in--that schooner, and left that fool Shuckster adrift
in the plunger."

"And the wife and children?"

"Shuckster sold his shanty at Petaluma