ke it matters little. Make it you
must, or walk in this world; and those who walk, get kicked."

And Winn, conscious that a bitter truth lurked in his friend's words,
went his way more disconsolate than ever.

But the memory of Rockhaven was still strong in him, and the eyes of
Mona and the heart-burst that marked their parting an ever present
memory.

And no answer had yet come to his letter.

One evening a little later, when a November storm, half rain, half
sleet, made the street miserable, Winn was pushing his way homeward when
he saw a girl, poorly clad, a thin summer wrap her only extra garment,
looking wistfully into a store window where tropical fruits tempted the
passers. He recognized her at once as the stenographer who had served
Weston & Hill.

"Why, Mamie," he said, halting, "how are you and what are you doing here
in the storm?"

"I was just wishing I could afford a basket of grapes for mother," she
answered, smiling at the sight of a friendly face, "but I can't. I've
been out of work now since the firm failed, you see."

"I've wondered what became of you," said Winn, his sympathy aroused at
once, "and how you were getting on. Where are you working now?"

"Nowhere," she answered. "I've been looking for a place for two months
and can't find one. Mother gave the firm all her money to invest, and
it's gone, and she is very ill. I am completely discouraged."

Then once more a righteous curse aimed at Weston almost escaped Winn's
lips.

"I am very sorry for you, Mamie," he said, "and I wish I could help
you."

"If you could only find me a place," she replied eagerly, catching at
the straw of hope, "I should be so grateful. We are very poor now."

"I'll do what I can for you," he said kindly, "and maybe I can help you.
I, too, was left stranded by that thief Weston;" and without another
word he stepped inside the store and, buying a good supply of fruit,
joined the girl outside.

"I am going home with you, Mamie," he said cheerfully, "and take your
mother some grapes. I've an idea of writing up a history of the Weston &
Hill swindle, and I want her story."

It was the first time he had thought of it, but it served as a ready
excuse. Then with one hand and arm loaded with bundles, and linking the
other around the shivering girl's as if she were a child, the two
started toward her home.

"We have had to move," said the girl, as she directed their way toward
the poorer quarters of the city, "and