she done everything."

He stopped as if to get his breath, and put his head in his hands
again--rocking himself to and fro like a man in great physical pain. I
sat silent beside him. It is difficult to decide what to do or say to a
man under such circumstances. His reference to some former arrest arose
in my mind, and so, in a perfunctory way--more for something to say than
for any purpose of prying into his former life--I asked:

"Was that the time the Pipe Contractor went bail for you?"

He moved his head slightly and without raising it from his hands looked
at me from over his clasped fingers.

"What, dat scrape a month ago, when I hid dem goods in de cellar? Naw!
Dat was two pals o' mine. Dey was near pinched and I helped 'em out.
Somebody give it away. But dat ain't noth-in'--Cap'n took care o' dat.
Dis was one o' me own five year ago. What's goin' to become o' de kids
now?" And he burst out crying again.


III

A year passed.

I had been painting along the Thames, lying in my punt, my face up to
the sky, or paddling in and out among the pond-lilies. I had idled, too,
on the lagoons of my beloved Venice, listening to Luigi crooning the
songs he loves so well, the soft air about me, the plash of my
gondolier's oar wrinkling the sheen of the silver sea. It had been a