Joe! Mr. Joe! Shake! For God's sake, give me a grip! This is great
for sore eyes! Where you been keeping yourself? Ain't he the limit? He's
the same old penny! Look at him--even his hat's the same!"

Joe shook hand after hand, until his own was numb. They crowded about
him, they flung their fondness at him, and he stood, his eyes blinded
with tears, his heart rent in his breast, and a new color climbing to
his cheeks.

Then suddenly a loud voice cried:

"What's the matter? What does this mean?"

And Marty Briggs emerged from the office.

"Hello, Marty!" cried Joe.

Marty stood dumfounded; then he came with a rush.

"Joe! You son-of-a-gun! Beg pardon, Miss! I ain't seen him for a
lifetime!"

"And how goes it, Marty? How goes it, Marty?"

"Tip-top; busy as beavers. But, say," he leaned over and whispered,
"I've found a secret."

"What is it, Marty?"

"You can't run a business with your hands or lungs or your manners--you
need gray stuff up here."

The reception was a great success, full of cross-questions, of bartered
news--as the arrival of new babies christened Joe or Josephine, the
passing of old babies in the last birth of all, the absence of old
faces, the presence of new ones. Glad talk and rapid, and only cut short
by the urgency of business.

They sang him out with a "He's a jolly good fellow," and he emerged on
the street with Myra, his eyes dripping.

Myra spoke softly.

"Joe."

"Yes, Myra."

"There's one more thing I want you to do for me."

"Name it."

"I want to walk with you in the Park."

He looked at her strangely, breathlessly.

"_In the Ramble, Myra_?"

She met his gaze.

"_In the Ramble, Joe_."

Silently, with strange, beating hearts and fore-glimmer of beauty and
wonder and loveliness, they walked west to the Park, and entered that
Crystal Palace. For every branch, every twig, every stone and rail had
its pendent ice and icicle, and the strong sun smote the world with
flakes of flame. The trees were showers of rainbow-flashing glory; now
and then an icicle dropped like a dart of fire, and the broad lawns were
sheets of dazzle. Earth was glittering, fresh, new, decked out in
unimaginable jewels under the vast and melting blue skies. The day was
tender and clear and vigorous, tingling with life.

They followed the curve of the walk, they crossed the roadway, they
climbed the hill, they walked the winding path of the Ramble.

"You remember that morning?" murmured Joe,