n earth you have
made in that tenement-house. Wiggins was so weak he could hardly sit up,
and he cried for pure joy, at the thought of getting away. He says he
knows it will save his life. He kept wringing my hand, over and over,
and saying, 'It isn't just the money and all that it will do for me in
the way of unloading me of that debt and getting my strength back, but
it's the kindness of it, Miller, the heavenly kindness of it! Doing all
this for me as if he had been my brother!'"

"Thank you, Miller," said Mr. Forbes, waving him hastily aside and
turning again to his letters. He seemed impatient, but there was a glow
in his heart that made the world seem pleasanter all day.

On his way home he stopped at a jeweller's, and selected a little ring.
It was only a simple twist of gold tied in a lover's knot, but inside he
had them engrave the word, _"Tusitala,"_ and ordered it sent to the
hotel that evening.

Late that night it was brought up to his room, where he sat writing a
letter to Eugenia. He had just finished the paragraph: "I am sending you
by this mail a sort of talisman. Maybe the daily sight of it on your
finger will be a helpful reminder of that noble life that shall never be
forgotten, while the Road of the Loving Heart endures. It is so easy to
forget to take time to be kind. I find it so in my daily rush of
business. I shall carry your letter with me as a reminder. Tell your
little friend Betty so. The ripple she started will circle farther than
she ever dreamed."

"How queer for me to be saying anything like that to Eugenia," he
thought. "How much she must have changed to be able to write me the
letter she did." He opened the box and took out the little ring. As he
turned it around on the tip of his finger, he remembered that it was
almost time for her to be coming home. The house party would soon be at
an end.

"Hardly worth while to send it to her," he thought. "She will be coming
home so soon. When we are down at the seashore, I will give it to her."

The letter she had written him lay open on the table before him. That
letter, blotted with penitent tears, had brought a new tenderness into
his heart for her. It had revealed a different Eugenia from the one he
had been accustomed to thinking of as his little daughter. Somehow she
seemed nearer and dearer than she had ever done before, and he wanted to
take her in his arms and tell her so. The next instant the thought
flashed across his mind, "Wel