And, after this, buying a Socialist paper, he strolled into Evans Park to sit and read, a while, by the red light of the descending sun.
Here he remained till dark, smoking his briar, watching the dirty, ragged children of the wretched wage-slaves at play; observing the exploited men and women on the park-benches, as they sought a little fresh air and respite from toil; and pondering the problems that still lay before him.

At times--often indeed--his thoughts wandered to the maple-grove and the old sugar-house, far away on the Hudson.

Memories of the girl would not be banished, nor longings for her.

Who she might be, he still knew not.

Unwilling to learn, he had refrained from looking up the number he had copied from the plate of the wrecked machine.