He was thinking of his children--of Edith's approaching confinement and all her anxious hunting about to find what was best for her family, of Bruce and the way he was driving himself in the unnatural world downtown where men were at each other's throats, of Deborah and that school of hers in the heart of a vast foul region of tenement buildings swarming with strange, dirty little urchins.

And last he thought of Laura, his youngest daughter, wild as a hawk, gadding about the Lord knew where.

She even danced in restaurants! Through his children he felt flowing into his house the seething life of this new town.

And drowsily he told himself he must make a real effort, and make it soon, to know his family better.

For in spite of the storm of long ago which had swept away his faith in God, the feeling had come to him of late that somewhere, in some manner, he was to meet his wife again.