A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. "Take courage, man; it is only Quilt Arnold. You sent back my Christmas checks. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. . I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag.
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