finger marks, and of the ink spot on the rug. We had been six years in
the building of that home. Somehow, a part of us had been woven into
every nook and corner of it.

But Marjorie was not thriving. Her cheeks were pale and slightly
flushed. The removal of tonsils didn't help. Followed a visit to my
dentist. Perhaps a tooth was spreading poison through her system. He
looked at her, and after a few minutes took me alone into his private
office.

"I'm sorry, Eddie," he said. "I am afraid it isn't teeth. You have a
long, hard fight to make--if it is what I think it is."

Tuberculosis had entered our home. It had come by way of typhoid and
scarlet fevers. The specialist confirmed Doctor Oakman's suspicions, and
our battle began. The little home could serve us no longer. It was not
the place for such a fight for life as we were to make. Marjorie must
have a wide-open sleeping porch; and the house lacked that, nor could
one be built upon it.

And so we found our present home. It was for sale at a price I thought
then I should never be able to pay. We could have it by making a down
payment of seventy-five hundred dollars, the balance to be covered by a
mortgage. But I neither had that much, nor owned securities for even a
small fraction of it.

But I did have a friend: a rich, but generous friend! I told him what I
wanted; and he seemed more grieved at my burden than concerned with my
request. He talked only of Marjorie and her chances; he put his arm
about my shoulders, and I knew he was with me.