standing in a row
at the back of the same tea table were three candles in ten-cent-store
glass candlesticks, waiting to be lighted. The afternoon was a dismal
one, with occasional flurries of snow; so that when the proper time
came for the candle-lighting, the flames would not be ungrateful.

But in order to make the waiting seem less long the girl was evidently
trying to distract her attention by practicing her music. Several
times she sang over the scales. And then, dissatisfied with her own
work, repeated them until finally her voice rose with unusual resonance
and power. Then, after another slight pause, she drifted almost
unconsciously into the words of a song:

"Burn, fire, burn!
Flicker, flicker, flame!
Whose hand above this blaze is lifted
Shall be with magic touch engifted,
To warm the hearts of lonely mortals
Who stand without their open portals.
The torch shall draw them to the fire
Higher, higher
By desire.
Whoso shall stand by this hearthstone,
Flame-fanned,
Shall never, never stand alone;
Whose house is dark and bare and cold,
Whose house is cold,
This is his own.
Flicker, flicker, flicker, flame;
Burn, fire burn!"

She had not heard the door open softly nor even noticed the figure that
crept softly into the small room.

But now a pair of gloved hands were clasped eagerly together and an
enthusiastic voice said:

"Esther Crippen, that is the loveliest song in all the world and you
are the loveliest singer of it! How glad I am to have arrived at just
this moment! Why, your little room makes me feel that it is a _real_
refuge from all that is dark and bare and cold. And you surely are
with the 'magic touch engifted to warm the hearts of lonely mortals'
with that beautiful voice of yours."

And Polly O'Neill, putting one hand on each of Esther's cheeks, kissed
her with unexpected ardor.

It made Esther flush and tremble slightly as she rose to greet her
long-desired guest. Any compliment made Esther shy and one from Polly
more than from another person. For although each girl admired the
other's talents and character, they had never understood each other
especially well. Esther always seemed to Polly far too sober and
almost too unselfish and self-effacing, while Polly to the quieter girl
had all the brilliance and unreliability of a will-o'-the-wisp. Before
coming to New York for the winter their intimacy had been due largely
to their mutual de