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He said to Wiliams, "You know how I feel, but it don't matter 'bout me. I—I——" His voice got away from him and squeaked. "I—I'm old—but——" Again the squeak. "It's them. I want them to have what money gets. I want——". An idea came. His voice rose shrilly. "I'll get them—it's for them to thank 'ee!"

He shuffled to the door. His arms hung loosely, as if tied to his shoulders, and jerked shakily as he walked. He opened the door only a little, and edged through hurriedly, as if slipping away. He called, but no answer came. He went along the wide, dark hall, calling.

From far off through the gloom there was a child's thin answer.

"Come here! Come here! Or'na dear, Nada darlin', come t' daddy!"

A hurrying patter of bare feet over the mats, then two lithe little shapes emerged from the darkness with a bound, and grasped him, clinging fast, holding on with impetuous expectancy, demanding why he had called. He often tried to surprise them in this way with something that they wanted.

He brought them along with him down the gloomy hall. They were at once a little awed by the silence and strangeness in his manner, and held tightly to his arms. He seemed so changed that it brought to them the feeling that their mother had died again.