that to me, and I couldn't understand her." 

 "It's thuh poomple, docther. Dawn't ye knoo? Thuh big, flehmin poomple oop there." She indicated the locality, by flattening the rude tip of her own nose with her broad forefinger. 

 "Oh! the pimple! I have it." So he had. Netty, Netty! 

 He said nothing, but sat down in a chair, with his bold, white brow knitted, and the warm tears in his dark eyes. 

 "You know who sent it, sir, don't you?" asked his wondering tenant, catching the meaning of all this. 

 "Mrs. Miller, I do. But I cannot tell you. Take it, now, and use it. It is doubly yours. There. Thank you." 

 She had taken it with an emotion in her face that gave a quicker motion to his throbbing heart. He rose to his feet, hat in hand, and turned away. The noise of a passing group of roysterers in the street without came strangely loud into the silence of that room. 

 "Good night, Mrs. Miller. I'll be here in the morning. Good night." 

 "Good night, sir. God bless you, sir!" 

 He turned around quickly. The warm tears in his dark eyes had flowed on his face, which was pale; and his firm lip quivered. 

 "I hope He will, Mrs. Miller,—I hope He will. It should have been said oftener." 

 He was on the outer threshold. Mrs. Flanagan had, somehow, got there before him, with a lamp, and he followed her down through the dancing shadows, with blurred eyes. On the lower landing he stopped to hear the jar of some noisy wrangle, thick with oaths, from the bar-room. He listened for a moment, and then turned to the staring stupor of Mrs. Flanagan's rugged visage. 

 "Sure, they're at ut, docther, wud a wull," she said, smiling. 

 "Yes. Mrs. Flanagan, you'll stay up with Mrs. Miller to-night, won't you?" 

 "Dade an' I wull, sur." 

 "That's right. Do. And make her try and sleep, for she must be tired. Keep up a fire,—not too warm, you understand. There'll be wood and coal coming to-morrow, and she'll pay you back." 

 "A-w, docther, dawn't noo!" 

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