food and drink to him. He put down the book of pious readings with a small gesture of scorn, and wrapped up the other three books in the newspaper. Then he hesitated. Finally, with real reluctance, he lifted the parcel of food also. He said, "Thank you, Sister." But his white cheekbones flushed with mortification. "I can afford my dinners, Sister, but I am hungry tonight, and so I thank you." He tucked the parcels under his arm and removed his cap from the table. "Joey," said Sister Elizabeth, "God go with you, my child." He was surprised at the emotion he saw on her face, for she was always so full of common sense and never uttered pious aphorisms and blessings. He was not sure that what he felt in response was contempt or embarrassment, but he ducked his head and passed her with a final "thank you." She watched him go, not moving for a few moments. As he went by her secluded "parlor" he heard Mrs. Smith's soft mourning and now the voice of a man comforting her. He left the convent-orphanage, and the fine coach was still waiting. Joseph hesitated. All at once he felt the power of wealth as he had never felt it before, and he was suddenly choked with alarm. A man who had money could take what he wanted and the devil take the rest. It was possible that that rich man and woman in Sister Elizabeth's parlor could seize, law or no law, the sister of Joseph Armagh and spirit her away, and there would be naught he could do. A thin cold sweat broke out on his forehead and between his shoulders. He walked slowly towards the carriage, smiling as pleasantly as he could, and the coachman watched him come with sharp alertness and clutched his whip. Joseph stopped near him -and stood back on his heels, and laughed. "A noble carriage for Winficld," he jeered. "Does the gentleman keep it for his lady-love, perhaps, but not to be seen on the streets in the day?" "It's a foul tongue you have in your head, boyeen!" shouted the coachman, and glared down at the haggard face below him and raised his whip. This is the carriage of himself, the Mayor of Winfield, and his lady, Mrs. Tom Hennessey, and it's not in Winfield they live," and he spat, "but in Green Hills where the likes of you would skulk at the back door begging for bread! And be kicked off, down the road!" Now Joseph's alarm reached icy terror, but he merely stood there and grinned up at the coachman. Then he finally shrugged, gave the carriage a last sneering glance and walked off. The Mayor of Winfield, and his lady, and they coveted Regina and would steal her if they could, like a pickaninny in the hands of a blackbirder! Joseph hurried through the streets, panting, clutching his parcels, senseless fright snapping at his heels. It was not until 'he was near his rooming house, in the darkest and most poverty-stricken part of Winfield, that he was able to control himself. So long as he could afford to pay for his brother and sister at the orphanage they could not "give them away," like puppies or kittens. It was true that Sister Elizabeth had never once hinted such a thing, but Joseph distrusted all people without exception, and the fear he had felt on the ship was with him always. No one knew now where his uncle, Jack Armagh, was, so he, Joseph, was Scan's and Regina's true guardian, but he was only sixteen. One never knew what horrors and perfidies and crimes could be invoked against the helpless, even from such as Father Barton and Sister Elizabeth. He needed more money. Money was the answer to all things. Had he not read that somewhere, probably in the Bible his father had cherished at home, and which had gone with all the other Armagh treasures? Sure, and there it was that he had read it: "A rich man's wealth is his strong city." He had been determined from the beginning to be rich some day, but now his determination was complete, confirmed. He thought of his mother, given to the sea after the ship had left New York, and his father in a pauper's grave, without stone or remembrance,
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