call it a nervous breakdown, his lips were forever sealed.

Then the thought of his home came to him like distant music. He saw
himself opening his door; he saw a small ball of white coming down the
stairs backward in a terrifying fury of speed, the little, fat,
half-bare legs and a swirl of tiny skirts all that was visible of his
wee daughter coming to greet him. He saw himself catch her off the
last step and lift her in his arms, burying his face against the
baby's hot, panting little body, then he heard Helen's voice and the
sound of her scurrying feet!

Robert sprang up, and with a burst of wild laughter, shouted:

"Ben, let's go home! I believe you're dead right--I've got nervous
prostration, and I've got it bad!"

THE VAGABOND

Your arms have held me till they seemed my home.
Your heart denies me; and the spells I weave
Are powerless to hold you. You must roam,
And I must, grieving, hide the thing I grieve.
Oh, love that does not love me, will there come
No time when I am all too dear to leave?

Is life so rich without me? Will there be
No ache of loneliness? No sudden sting
Of loss--of longing? Will your memory
Dwell on no passionate, sweet, familiar thing,
Soft touch or whispered word? Are you so free
From any ties but those new days may bring?

So much I miss you that I do not dare
To let my heart turn backward, nor my eyes
Search the wide future that is swept so bare
Of all I coveted. Yet deeplier lies
Than any misery of dull despair
The fear that you may some day come to prize
The things I stand for, when I am not there
To fill your needs with all my sympathies.

M. M.

THE DOING OF THE LAMBS

By SUSAN SAYRE TITSWORTH

"Well, so long, fellows," said the Goat, and rose to go.

"Good-night, old man," responded the cheerful chorus of his hosts. As
the Goat went out into the hall there was silence in the room he had
left, which lasted until after he had opened the hall door and had had
time to close it. But instead of closing it, he merely bumped noisily
against it, and rattled the knob, and stood listening. As if his
departure were a signal, a roar of laughter from within followed his
stratagem. One voice rose above the noise.

"By George!" it said. "Isn't he the limit?"

The Goat closed the door silently and mounted the stairs to his own
room in the apartment above.