e roughly folded paper held was quickly
revealed. As he held out the wee boots in the palm of his strong hand,
his lips moved for a few moments, but they gave forth no sound. When
the words at last came they were pitifully broken: "His, _his_ boots!
My poor, poor darling!" Over and over again he repeated the words as
he passionately stroked the frayed little toes.

His strength seemed suddenly to desert him and he sank weakly on a
chair, "How I loved him! My God!" Then there flashed back to him the
memory of his wife's deep, true love, and sorrow for the lost one,
and of how he had added to their sorrow, and how they were now about
to separate, and the regret and pity of it all broke down all
self-control and caused sobs to break from his lips, such as only
strong men who seldom know what tears are, can ever utter.

When the storm had spent itself he rose and carefully wrapped up the
boots. "I will take them with me," he said, "they will keep me from
growing narrow and morose again. Ah, if I had but kept them when I was
passing through the dark days! I should have had more sympathy with
her, have understood myself and her better, and this never would have
happened." He looked around the room for the last time: "No, she never
was so dear to me as she is to-night; I never understood her so well."

As he was moving sadly toward the door some belated organ-grinder, in
an adjacent street, began to play the weird refrain of that song which
has touched the hearts of so many who have loved home:

"Home, home, sweet, sweet home--."

He stopped and listened to the music as it stole plaintively from the
distance into the room. When he began to move toward the door again he
was absently repeating the haunting refrain:

"Home, home, sweet, sweet home--."

The music, as well as his words, had floated to the deep bay window;
the curtains had swiftly and noiselessly parted, and she was stealing
after his retreating figure with an expression mantling her face
which brought out every detail of its great beauty.

As he raised his hand to open the door the organ drifted from the
refrain to the air.

He began sadly to repeat the pathetic words:

"An exile from home--."

Two warm, loving arms had stolen around his neck from behind and
smothered the words on his lips: "Not an exile from home, Harold; no,
no, not that, dear! The boots--we understand better now--forgive me,
Harold. Don't go. I----."

Once more the org