If the Great Spirit of love and trust lives, not lost! Even in the cold and quiet of the woman walking by her side the homely power of the poor huckster was wholesome to strengthen.

Margret left her, turning into the crowded street leading to the part of the town where the factories lay.

The throng of anxious-faced men and women jostled and pushed, but she passed through them with a different heart from yesterday's.

Somehow, the morbid fancies were gone: she was keenly alive; the coarse real life of this huckster fired her, touched her blood with a more vital stimulus than any tale of crusader.

As she went down the crooked maze of dingy lanes, she could hear Lois's little cracked bell far off: it sounded like a Christmas song to her.