is young blood in the firm. 'Phemie would get her week's pay Saturday night. Altogether, Lyddy might find thirty dollars in her hand with which to face the future for all three of them! What could she get for their soaked furniture? These thoughts were with her while she was dressing. 'Phemie had hurried away after making her sister promise to telephone as to her father's condition the minute they allowed Lyddy to see him at the hospital. Aunt Jane was a luxurious lie-abed, and had ordered tea and toast for nine o'clock. Her oldest niece put on her shabby hat and coat and went out to the nearest lunch-room, where coffee and rolls were her breakfast. Then she walked down to Trimble Avenue and approached the huge, double-decker where they had lived. Salvage men were already carrying away the charred fragments of the furniture from the top floor. Lyddy hoped that, unlike herself, the Smiths and the others up there had been insured against fire. She plodded wearily up the four flights and unlocked one of the flat doors and entered. Two of the salvage men followed her in and removed the tarpaulins--which had been worse than useless. "No harm done but a little water, Miss," said one of them, consolingly. "But you talk up to the adjuster and he'll make it all right." They all thought, of course, that the Brays' furniture was insured. Lyddy closed the door and looked over the wrecked flat. The parlor furniture coverings were all stained, and the carpet's colors had "run" fearfully. Many of their little keepsakes and "gim-cracks" had been broken when the tarpaulins were spread. The bedrooms were in better shape, although the bedding was somewhat wet. But the kitchen was ruined. "Of course," thought Lyddy, "there wasn't much to ruin. Everything was cheap enough. But what a mess to clean up!" She looked out of the window across the air-shaft. There was the boy! He nodded and beckoned to her. He had his own window open. Lydia considered that she had no business to talk with this young man; yet he had played the "friend in need" the evening before. "How's your father?" he called, the moment she opened her window. "I do not know yet. They told me not to come to the hospital until nine-thirty." "I guess you're in a mess over there--eh?" he said, with his most boyish smile. But Lyddy was not for idle converse. She nodded, thanked him for his kindness the evening before, and firmly shut the window. She thought she knew how to keep _that_ young man in his place. But she hadn't the heart to do anything toward tidying up the flat now. And how she wished she might not _have_ to do it! "If we could only take our clothing and the bedding and little things, and walk out," she murmured, standing in the middle of the little parlor. To try to "pick up the pieces" here was 

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