ing to some old lady about her
grandchildren. "You must marry," they said to him. "When one rises from
the dead," he replied. At length, his friends grew tired of helping him
and gave him up, and he dropped out and settled down. Commiseration is
one of the bitter things of life. But Floyd had what is harder to bear
than that. It did not affect his work. It was only his health and his
life that suffered. He was like a man who has lost the senses of touch
and taste and sight. If he minded it, he did not show it. One can get
used to being bedridden.

One thing about him was that he always appeared poor. He began to be
known as an inventor and writer. It was known that he received high
prices for what he did; but he appeared to be no better off than when
he made nothing. Some persons supposed that he gambled; others whispered
that he spent it in other dissipation. In fact, one lady gave a
circumstantial account of the way he squandered his money, and declared
herself very glad that he had never visited her daughters. When this was
repeated to Floyd, he said he fortunately did not have to account to
her for the way he spent his money. He felt that the woman out under the
marble cross knew how his money went, and so did the little cousin who
was named after her, and who was at school. He had a letter from her in
his pocket at that moment. So he drifted on.

At length one evening he was at a reception in a strange city whither
his business had taken him. The rooms were filled with light and beauty.
Floyd was standing chatting with a child of ten years, whom he found
standing in a corner, gazing out with wide questioning eyes on the
throng. They were friends instantly, and he was telling her who the
guests were, as they came sailing in, giving them fictitious names and
titles. "They are all queens," he told her, at which she laughed. She
pointed out a tall and stately woman with a solemn face, and with a
gleaming bodice on like a cuirass, and her hair up on her head like a
casque. "Who is that?"

"Queen Semiramis."

"And who is that?" It was a stout lady with a tiara of diamonds, a red
face, and three feathers.

"Queen Victoria, of course."

"And who am I?" She placed her little hand on her breast with a pretty
gesture.

"The Queen of Hearts," said Floyd, quickly, at which she laughed
outright. "Oh! I must not laugh," she said, checking herself and
glancing around her with a shocked look. "I forgot."

"You shall. If