me to. It was a beautiful book. It had an awful lot of love in it. I
know what I'm going to write."

For some moments she wrote laboriously on the pad, which wabbled
badly on her knees, then she folded the piece of paper and, getting
up, went toward the door. Van Landing followed her.

"The boy," he said. "Will you give him this and tell him if the note
is delivered to Miss Barbour personally there will be more when he
comes back?" He held out his hand.

As if not seeing aright, Carmencita looked closely at what was held
toward her, then up in Van Landing's face. "You must have plenty of
money, if you haven't any friends," she said, and in her voice was
faint suspicion. "Noodles can't have that. He'd never go anywhere for
me again if he got that much." Her hand waved his away. "When he comes
back, if you'll give him a quarter he'll stand on his head. It's hard
and hollow, and he makes right smart standing on it and wriggling his
feet." She shook her head. "It would ruin him to give him a dollar.
Please read to Father."

Her visitor's face flushed. Why couldn't he remember? "Very well," he
said; "manage it your way. Tell him to hurry, will you?'"

Would she come? With his lips Stephen Van Landing was pronouncing the
words of the article he had again begun to read to the blind harpist,
but in his heart, which was beating thickly, other words were surging,
and every now and then he wiped his forehead lest its dampness be seen
by the child's keen eyes. Would she come? Three years had passed since
senseless selfishness on his part had made her spirit flare and she