Darting in between two large motor-cars, Van Landing saw
her run forward and take the hand of a man who was standing near the
side-entrance of the house in which the wedding had taken place. It
was too dark to distinguish his face, and in the confusion following
the calling of numbers and the hurrying off of guests he felt
instinctively that the man shrank back, as is the way of the blind,
and an impulse to go over and lead him away made him start down the
steps.

At the foot he stopped. To go over was impossible. He would be
recognized. For half a moment he hesitated. It was his dinner hour,
and he should go home; but he didn't want to go home. The stillness
and orderliness of his handsome apartment was suddenly irritating. It
seemed a piece of mechanism made to go so smoothly and noiselessly
that every element of humanness was lacking in it; and with something
of a shiver he turned down the street and in the direction opposite to
that wherein he lived. The child's eyes had stirred memories that must
be kept down; and she was right. He was a poor man. He had a house,
but no home, and he had no Christmas presents to buy.

CHAPTER V

"Mr. Van! Mr. Van!"

He turned quickly. Behind, his new-made acquaintance was making effort
to run, but to run and still hold the hand of her father was
difficult. With a smile he stopped.

"Oh, Mr. Van!" The words came breathlessly. "I was so afraid we would
lose you! Father can't cross quick, and once I couldn't see you. Here
he is, Father." She took Van Landing's hand and laid it in her
father's. "He can tell by hands," she said, "whether you're a nice
person or not. I told him you didn't have anybody, and--"

Van Landing's hand for a moment lay in the stranger's, then he shook
the latter's warmly and again raised his hat. In the circle of light
caused by the electric lamp near which they stood the blind man's face
could be seen distinctly, and in it was that one sees but rarely in
the faces of men, and in Van Landing's throat came sudden tightening.

"Oh, sir, I cannot make her understand, cannot keep her from talking
to strangers!" The troubled voice was of a strange quality for so
shabbily clothed a body, and in the eyes that saw not, and which were
lifted to Van Landing's, was sudden terror. "She believes all people
to be her friends. I cannot always be with her, and some day--"

"But, Father, you said that whoever didn't have any friends must be
our friend, because-