are we to give pity
to people, or withhold it, simply because they are better or worse than
ourselves? No; there is something more in it than that."

Leaving "The Fried Cat" abruptly, he betook himself to an acquaintance
who, he knew, was very active in charities--a man who worked
practically, and gave time to the work.

"Do you visit any of your distress cases to-night?" he asked.

"Yes, I shall make a few calls," answered the man of charity. "Would
you like to go along?"

"Very much."

So the two started out together. The places they went to were of
various kinds, and revealed a considerable diversity of misfortune.
Sometimes they entered tenement houses of the most wretched character;
but in other instances they went to small and cheap but decent lodgings
over the shops on West Side avenues, or even penetrated into
boarding-houses of such good appearance that the banker was surprised
to find his friend's mission carrying him thither. All the cases,
however, had been studied, and were vouched for; and several were those
of young men and women having employment, but temporarily disabled, and
without friends who could help them.

"You do well to help these beginners, at critical times," said the
banker, with satisfaction. "I take a special interest in them."

It was almost the same as if he were receiving relief himself. Who
knows? Perhaps he was; but to the outward eye it appeared merely that,
with his friend's sanction, he was dispensing money and offers of
goodwill to the needy. What a strange freak it was, though, in
Littimer! He kept on with the work until quite late in the evening,
regardless of the risk he ran by continuing out-of-doors when so ill
shod.

I think he had some idea in his mind that he was performing an act of
penance.

IV

Having waited a reasonable length of time after dinner, Crombie again
left his room, resolved to make a call upon Mr. Littimer, on the plea
of apologizing for having marched away with his shoes.

He would not run the risk, by sending his card, of being denied as a
stranger; so, notwithstanding much hesitation and tremor, he approached
the door which he had once seen standing open, and knocked. A voice
which he now heard for the second time in his life, but which was so
sweet and crept so naturally into the centre of his heart that the
thought of it seemed always to have been there, answered: "Come in."
And he did come in.

"Is Mr. Lit--is your father at home?" It