will try." During his words, William Roden had kept his eyes fixed upon the poor wretch before him, and he saw that he was visibly affected, but he made no reply. Mr. Roden resumud after a few moments silence. "I will go out and get some coal for a fire, and something for you to eat, and then after you are warmed and have had a good dinner, you will feel more like talking with me. Will you promise to remain here while I am away?" At that moment the outer door opened and Margie entered the room. One week had made a great change in her appearance. The beautiful brown eyes had in a measure lost their look of sorrow, though a cloud darkened their brightness as they rested on the bowed form of her father. The sweet face, however, wore a happier look, and just the faintest of pink flushes rested in the delicate cheeks. She was dressed neatly and warmly, and her step light and elastic with new life, told how much a little comfort can do for one who has suffered the pangs of poverty and despair. Mr. Roden's eyes rested longingly upon her as she stepped forward, and pausing by her father's side, she laid one slender gloved hand upon his worn, threadbare coat and said:
"Father, have you no word for your daughter Margie? Mother wishes to see you at once, she is much better or would be if you would but go to her. Say, father, will you go?"
"I am ashamed to go, Margie, I have abused you so much that I—Oh, Margie, my child, my child!" Down upon her knees sank the young girl, and throwing her arms around her father's neck, she drew his head down until it rested upon her shoulder. Then she tenderly drew off the old battered hat, and brushed back from his forehead the matted hair, sobbing all the while. "Oh, my dear, dear father, we will forget that dreadful time, and you will be my loving father once more. Say you will go with me."
"If you think you can save me, I will go with you, but William—Margie—I am not worth the trouble," he replied, raising his head from his daughter's shoulder and brushing away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks. "Will you go at once?" said Margie, eagerly. "I cannot go to her looking like this, Margie," said her father as he looked down upon his ragged clothes and worn shoes. Mr. Roden then spoke: "I think, my dear, that he had better have a fire here, and something to eat, and then we will make a few calls before going to your mother. He wants to leave behind him every possible trace of the life he has led, and he is right. Yes, uncle William, I will soon have a fire and some nourishment for him." She left the room as she spoke, but soon returned bearing kindlings and coal, and very soon had a warm fire burning in the little stove. Then she hurried out upon the street, returning soon with oysters, crackers and tea, which she quickly prepared and placed upon the little table. Her father ate but little, but arose from the table evidently refreshed.
It was growing quite dark when the two men left the house. Margie waited only long enough to tidy up the little kitchen for the last time. When all was arranged to her satisfaction, she, too, left the house, locking the door behind her. Meeting their landlord soon after, she gave him the key, telling him he was welcome to the furniture, or anything else the rooms contained. Then she hurried on her way, feeling that she had really done with her old life and its surroundings forever. An hour later as she sat beside her mother telling her over and over again the joyful news, the door opened and Mrs. Roden entered the room. She was a lovely lady, with silver gray hair, and a sweet, sad look in the gentle blue eyes that rested so lovingly upon her daughter, as she came slowly forward. "Margaret, your husband has come and is waiting to see you. Shall I bid him come in?" "Yes, dear mother, I would see him at once." Even Margie could hardly believe that the man who soon entered the room and knelt so penitently before her mother, could be her father. His long, unkempt hair and beard had been closely trimmed, and a neat suit of
