ed against his thighs.

I gazed at him, and as I gazed something wet glistened in his eyes,
rolled down his cheeks and splashed on the back of his hand, where it
dried up as if it had fallen on a red-hot plate.

I took an unsteady step toward him and held out my hand.

"Jim," I murmured, "my poor old Jim!"

His head remained lowered.

"Strike me," he groaned huskily. "For God's sake strike me, for the
coward I am!"

"I want your hand, Jim," I answered. "Tell me what is wrong? What is
all this about?"

At last he looked into my eyes. I could see a hundred conflicting
emotions working in his expressive face.

"You would be friends after what I have done?" he asked.

"I want your hand, Jim," I said again.

In a moment, both his were clasped over mine, in his vicelike grip.

"George,--George!" he cried. "We've always been friends,--chums. I
have always known you were not like the rest of them."

He drew his forearm across his brow. "I am not myself, George. You'll
forgive me for what I did, won't you?"

"Man, Jim,--there is nothing done that requires forgiving;--only, you
have the devil's own grip. I don't suppose I shall be able to swallow
decently for a week.

"But you are in trouble: what is it, Jim? Tell me; maybe I can help."

"Ay,--it's trouble enough,--God forbid. It's Peggy, George,--my dear
little sister, Peggy, that has neither mother nor father to guide
her;--only me, and I'm a blind fool. Oh!--I can't speak about it.
Come over with me and see for yourself."

I followed him slowly and silently out of the smithy, down the lane and
across the road to his little, rose-covered cottage. We went round to
the back of the house. Jim held up his hand for caution, as he peeped
in at the kitchen window. He turned to me again, and beckoned, his big
eyes blind with tears.

"Look in there," he gulped. "That's my little sister, my little Peggy;
she who never has had a sorrow since mother left us. She's been like
that for four hours and she gets worse when I try to comfort her."

I peered in.

Peggy was sitting on the edge of a chair and bending across the table.
Her arms were spread out in front of her and her face was buried in
them. Her brown, curly hair rippled over her neck and shoulders like a
mountain stream. Great sobs seemed to be shaking her supple body. I
listened, and my ears caught the sound of a breaking heart. There was
a fearful agony in her whole attitude.

I turned