gold pocket-piece which he had carried for a long time and gave it to her. "Goodby. I mean good-night," he said. Then he went back and locked himself in again. Presently he heard Frederica come home. She stood talking with Sally a moment and then later ran up to his room and tapped lightly at the door. He kept still. He could not say good-by to her. She had been like a dear daughter to him. She tapped softly again, and then went away thinking that he was asleep.

When the house was quiet the old man put his clothes into a trunk ready to go. There was a picture over his bed, a poor faded copy of the Ecce Homo. Jenny had earned the money to buy that on their first Christmas day together. It had hung there ever since. It meant-only God and he knew what it meant.

He stood looking at it a long time and then turned away. Mrs. Cross had told him no pictures or luxuries of any sort could be brought into the Home.

The old man, like most miserable watchers, probably slept more than he knew

through that long night, but with the first dawn he was up tottering about making ready to go. He would not go down for breakfast-he never would face Frederica and the children again. He locked and strapped his trunk and wrote on the tag, "Send to the Home for Aged Men."

Now all was finished. He had nothing more to do than to put on his overcoat and hat and go away. He had planned to go through the little room that he and Jenny had called the library. He had built that room and put up the shelves, with Jenny helping him. He looked in the door now.

"We called it the library and we had not a hundred books!" he said, and laughed aloud.

Old Sally ran out of the kitchen. "Lahs sakes, Doctah! Yoh's not goin' out wif no brekfus'. An' yoh eaten not a bite las' night! I'll hab de coffee in two minutes—" He muttered something and hurried away, the garden gate slamming behind him. "Foh grashus! De Doctah's gone mad!" she said, going back to beat her biscuit. He wandered about the silent street until the

test in the sun against the tranquil beauty of the woods and dark winding river. Over the door in huge letters was painted "Home for Aged Men." The Doctor walked up to it and rang the bell.

The door was opened by a tall woman whose lean face and neat figure seemed to be a perpetual protest against all the disorder in the world. The old man took off his hat.

"Well, what's wanted?" she said sharply. "I am Doctor Paull," he said.

"Ah? The new inmate? You are not expected until ten o'clock." She was about to close the door in his face, when Mrs. Cross came running down the stairs.

"Stop, Miss Wynn, stop! Admit Doctor Paull. It is not in order, but-" she caught him by the hand, smiling. "In an establishment of this kind rules must be stringent, you know. But for this onceCome in. I will show you to your chamber."

As she led him briskly to the stairs, the Doctor tottered and grew pale.

"What ails him?" said Miss Wynn. "I hope I am not going to begin with an invalid?" Miss Wynn was the experienced woman whom Mrs. Cross had brought from Connecticut to be Matron of the Home. "What ails you?" she demanded of the new inmate.

The Doctor looked up and tried to smile. "I really think I am hungry," he said. "I feel so weak. My legs-I did not eat any breakfast."

The women whispered apart. "It's quite irregular," said Miss Wynn. "But if you say so- Go to the eating room." She motioned to the old man. Mrs. Cross went forward with him, taking him kindly by the arm. She wished that Clara Wynn's manner was less abrupt. It really was not necessary to remind the inmates every moment that they were paupers! She had long been tired of the soft, kindly drawl of the Oakford people. But Clara's voice cut like a knife!

The house was scrupulously clean. The bare wooden floors were painted brown. Here and there lay an imitation Turkish rug of brilliant color. On the walls was a bright yellow paper. Almost every room boasted of a mirror and one or two chromos --all in much begilt frames. The pictures for the most part were the heads of simper

ing "Rosalies" or "Gladyses." Mrs. Cross had bought them all in lot at an auction shop in Philadelphia. She waved her hand to them now complacently.

"You see, Dr. Paull! I have tried to make your new home cheerful and attractive. I am no artist, but I appreciate the beautiful wherever found. The heating arrangements, too, are perfect and very handLet us have beauty as well as comfort." She pointed to the huge brass pipes for hot air in each room, and then suddenly pausing, laid her hand on them.

some.

"The furnace is not lit, Clara!" She turned to Miss Wynn. "The house is as cold as death."

"I suppose the sun will warm it presently," said Miss Wynn placidly. "I never allow a furnace to be lighted until November the 10th, never. Order, my dear Mrs. Cross, is Heaven's first law. And mine."

Mrs. Cross reddened. “Oh, certainly. Come into the dining-room, Doctor," leading the way into a square apartment, in the middle of which stood a table covered by a pale yellow buff oil-cloth. "More pictures, you see? Colored photograph of myself," waving her hand. "My friends thought it appropriate just here-the hostess smiling and welcoming her guests. Scripture subject over the mantel-piece. Miracle of the Fishes. Multitude fed. That picture seems to me especially suitable and timely."

Miss Wynn summoned Sam Darrah and Dan Paine and placed the three old men side by side at the table. The Doctor hesitated, bowing courteously.

"Will you not be seated, Madam?" he

said.

"Me? I do not eat with the inmates," snapped Miss Wynn.

"You are going to have no table-cloth nor napkins? And you use tin plates, Clara ?" said Mrs. Cross.

"Certainly. For sanitary reasons. No germ can remain on metal plates if they are properly cleaned.”

Before each old man she placed a thick slice of bread, a tiny pat of butter and a glass of skimmed milk. Dan Paine promptly declared that the butter was rancid. The Doctor passed it in silence and ate the dry bread. He lifted the milk to his lips, and put it down. "I am sorry," he said timidly, "but I never have been able

to drink milk. Could I have a cup of coffee or tea?"

"Milk," said Miss Wynn sharply, "is the natural drink for the very young and the very old. You must learn to drink it. Coffee and tea are stimulants. They never are served in any establishment over which I have control."

Mrs. Cross whispered something to her apart. "Certainly not!" said Miss Wynn. "They will be given four ounces of meat at midday. My rules of dietary are inexorable. They are based upon both sanitary and economic reasons. If these old men never have learned to control their appetites, it is high time that they began. And with the sum given to me to carry on this Home, I certainly cannot make a Café Delmonico out of it."

When they had finished Mrs. Cross led the way into another room. "This is the parlor for the inmates," she said. "A nice little library, you see, Doctor? My personal friends contributed to that."

The Doctor went up to the begilt little case. There were broken sets of Buffon's Natural History, Bunyan's "Holy War," a French and English dictionary with no back, and half of Miss Leslie's Cookery Book.

"I shall keep the key of the case," said Miss Wynn, "and give out the books once a week."

"And look! Here is a piano!" cried Mrs. Cross. "Presented by the Founder of the Home, Mr. X., the great American philanthropist. It is second-hand, but it can easily be put in tune."

"I'll look after that," bragged Dan Paine. "I always had a musical knack. I'll give you a tune now, eh? 'Hail Columbia'? 'Roy's Wife'? What d'ye say, Doc?"

"I shall keep the keys of the instrument, said Miss Wynn calmly, "it will be used during religious service only."

Presently Mrs. Cross led the Doctor to his chamber.

It was one of a row of narrow cell-like rooms opening on either side of the hall. The floor was bare. The walls were glaring yellow. So was the paper shade over the one window. On one side stood a narrow iron bedstead, on the other a chest of drawers. The view from the window commanded the back yard in which were a pig-pen and a cow-stable. On the door was tacked a paper on which were the hours for meals, and the Rules. One of these was: "No inmate, unless by the Doctor's directions, must lie down on his bed during the day. It and the room must be kept in perfect order at all times ready for the inspection of visitors."

There was one straight-backed chair in

the room.

The Doctor, when he was left alone, sat down upon it and looked around him. What was he to do? Nothing. There was nothing to do, to-day, or ever. He got up and looked out of the window at the pig rooting in its trough, and then sat down again. It seemed as if he had been looking at that pig for hours.

There was a queer faintness at his heart or was it his stomach? Once he thought he smelled Sally's coffee and hot cakes. But that, too, went away. He slept awhile, nodding until he nearly fell. If he only could lie down on the bed! He sprang up thinking he heard Frederica calling him. But she was not there. He went to the window and looked out at the pig again.

After an hour there was a knock at the door. Miss Wynn stood there, with an

amiable smile on her face which she always wore when on duty.

"I think it best to tell you," she said, "that a person calling herself Mrs. Paull, with two children, came to see you early this morning. I refused her admission, telling her that our rules permitted visitors only twice in the week. On Monday and Thursday afternoons. For two hours. This is Friday. I wish you also to understand the rules. It will perhaps save trouble." She went out and closed the door.

The old man lay down on the floor. He was very tired.

Then he jumped up and walked up and down. What had he to complain of? He had everything necessary for him until the end came, food and a place to sleep. Everything. He stretched out his arms. How