'm waiting for a
little girl that's promised some day to keep house for me."

"Oh, Martin!" cried Mrs. MacQuigan excitedly. "And--and you never said
a word!"

Bradley's hand dove into his inside pocket and came out with a
photograph--and the smile on his face now was full of pride.

"Here's her picture," he said.

"Wait, Martin--wait till I get my spectacles!" exclaimed Mrs.
MacQuigan, all in a flutter; and, rising, she hurried over to the
little shelf in the corner. Then, adjusting the steel bows over her
ears, with little pats to smooth down her hair, she picked up the
photograph and stared at it--at the picture of a little tot of eight or
nine, at a merry, happy little face that smiled at her roguishly.

"She's ten now, God bless her!" said Bradley simply. "That was taken
two years ago--so I haven't so long to wait, you see."

"Why--why, Martin," stammered Mrs. MacQuigan, "sure you never said you
was married. And the wife, Martin, poor boy, she's--she's dead?"

Bradley picked up the photograph and replaced it in his pocket--but the
smile now was gone.

"No--I don't know--I never heard," he said. He walked over to the
window, pulled the shade and stared out, his back to Mrs. MacQuigan.
"She ditched me. I was on the Penn then--doing well. I had my engine
at twenty-five. I went bad for a bit. I'd have gone all the way if it
hadn't been for the kiddie. I'd have had more to answer for than I'd
want to have, blood, perhaps, if I'd stayed, so I pulled up stakes and
came out here." He turned again and came back from the window. "I
couldn't bring the kiddie, of course; it was no place for her. And I
couldn't leave her where she was to grow up with that in her life, for
she was too young then, thank God, to understand; so I'm giving her the
best my money'll buy in a girl's school back East, and"--his voice
broke a little--"and that's the little girl I'm waiting for, to make a
home for me--some time."

Mrs. MacQuigan's hands fumbled a little as she took off her spectacles
and laid them down--fumbled a little as she laid them on Bradley's
sleeve.

"God be good to you, Martin," she whispered, and, picking up some
dishes, went hurriedly from the room.

Bradley went back again and stood by the window, looking out, snapping
his fingers softly with that trick of his when any emotion was upon
him. Strange that he should have told his story to Mrs. MacQuigan
to-night! And yet he was glad he had told her; sh