in the daytime, and hid himself in his
back shop. There was something I never understood about the two of 'em
and his killing himself when he did. Why, look at that little Masie!
Can't ye see she is no more Kling's daughter than she is mine? Ye can't
hatch out hummin'-birds by sittin' on ducks' eggs, and that's what's the
matter over at Otto's."

"Well, whose eggs were they?" John had inquired, half asleep by the
stove, his tired legs outstretched, the evening paper dropping from his
hand.

"Oh, I don't say that they are not Kling's right enough, John. Masie is
his child, I know. But what I say is that the mother is stamped all over
the darling, and that Otto can't put a finger on any part and call it
his own."

Whether Kitty were right or wrong regarding the mystery is no part of
our story, but certain it was that the soul of the unhappy young mother
looked through the daughter's eyes, that the sweetness of the child's
voice was hers, and the grace of every movement a direct inheritance
from one whose frail spirit had taken so early a flight.

To Felix this companionship, with the glimpses it gave him of a child's
heart, refreshed his own as a summer rain does a thirsty plant. Had she
been his daughter, or his little sister, or his niece, or grandchild, a
certain sense of responsibility on his part and of filial duty on hers
would have clouded their perfect union. He would have had matters of
education to insist upon--perhaps of clothing and hygiene. She would
have had her secrets--hidden paths on which she wandered alone--things
she could never tell to one in authority. As it was, bound together as
they were by only a mutual recognition, their joy in each other knew no
bounds. To Masie he was a refuge, some one who understood every thought
before she had uttered it; to O'Day she was a never-ending and warming
delight.

And so this man of forty-five folded his arms about this child of ten,
and held her close, the opening chalice of her budding girlhood widening
hourly at his touch--a sight to be reverenced by every man and never to
be forgotten by one privileged to behold it.

And with the intimacy which almost against his will held him to the
little shop, there stole into his life a certain content. Springs long
dried in his own nature bubbled again. He felt the sudden, refreshing
sense of those who, after pent-up suffering, find the quickening of new
life within.

Mike noticed the change in the cheery greeti