he saw the little heap of
coins in his wife's hand. Martha's wages, Dot's pelisse, and even the
gloves and new hat-trimming were all duly canvassed. When Marcus said,
abruptly, "Aunt Madge is a trump," his glistening eyes were eloquent
enough. They had so much to discuss that it was nearly bedtime before
he offered to go on with the book he was reading aloud, but after all
they were neither in the mood for other people's stories.

In youth life is so interesting. No chapters of past memories, no wide
experiences are so beguiling and absorbing. "Oh, we lived then." How
often we hear that phrase, as the old man looks back over a long life,
to the time when lad's love filled his days with sunshine.

When Marcus lay awake that night there was no deadly coldness at his
heart, no lurking demon of despondency, waiting for the small dark
hours to assail him. On the contrary, hope with seraph wings fanned
him blissfully. Marcus Luttrell was young, but he was no coward. For
two years he had waited patiently until the tide should turn. "Wait
till the clouds roll by," he used to say, cheerily, but only his wife
guessed how he was really losing heart, as day after day and month
after month passed and no paying patients presented themselves at the
corner house at Galvaston Terrace.

Olivia was at the window the following morning with Dot in her arms.
As Dr. Luttrell, with his shabby black bag crossed the road, he looked
back once, and Dot kissed her dimpled hand to him. Olivia, who admired
her husband with all her honest girlish heart, watched eagerly until
the slight, well-built figure passed between the stone lions.

"If he were only a little older-looking," she thought, regretfully, but
his smooth face and fair hair gave him a boyish look.

It was absurd, of course, but she could settle to nothing until he came
back; but Marcus, who had a bad accident case on his mind, was in too
great a hurry to satisfy his wife's curiosity. "The foot was going on
as well as he expected, but Mr. Gaythorne was unable to leave his bed.
He was going again in the evening, and now he must be off to the model
lodging-house to see if the poor fellow had pulled through the night."

Olivia had planned out her morning. She had her marketing to do, and
her purchases to make. Then it was only right to go round and tell
Aunt Madge of the wonderful piece of good fortune that had befallen
them.

Mrs. Broderick was unfeignedly pleased. "Sti