It happened that Winthrop was very busy that day and had no time to talk, except the disjointed bits of talk that could come between the joints of the chicken; and pleasant as those bits were, they could not reach the want of poor Winnie’s heart.  Immediately after dinner Winthrop went out again; and she was left to get through the afternoon without help of anybody.

It had worn on, and the long summer day was drawing to its close, when Winthrop was at last set free from his business engagements and turned his face and his footsteps towards home.  The day had been sultry and his toil very engrossing; but that was not the reason his footsteps flagged.  They flagged rarely, but they did it now.  It needed not that he should have noticed his little sister’s face at dinner; his ordinary burdens of care were quite enough and one of them just now pressing.  In a sort of brown study he was slowly pacing up one of the emptying business streets, when his hand was seized by some one, and Winthrop’s startled look up met the round jocund well-to-do face of the German professor.

“Wint’rop! —­ Where are you going?”

“Home, sir,” —­ said Winthrop returning the grasp of his friend’s hand.

“How is all wiz you?”

“As usual, sir.”

“Wint’rop —­ what is de matter wiz you?”

“Nothing! —­” said Winthrop.

“I know better!” said the naturalist, —­ “and I know what it is, too.  Here —­ I will give you some work to do one of these days and then I will pay you the rest.”

And shaking Winthrop’s hand again, the philosopher dashed on.  But Winthrop’s hand was not empty when his friend’s had quitted it; to his astonishment he found a roll of bills left in it, and to his unbounded astonishment found they were bills to the amount of three hundred dollars.

If he was in any sort of a study as he paced the rest of his way home, it was not a brown study; and if his steps were slow, it was not that they flagged any more.  It had come in time; it was just what was needed; and it was enough to keep him on, till he should be admitted to the bar and might edge off his craft from her moorings to feel the wind and tide ‘that lead on to fortune.’  Winthrop never doubted of catching both; as little did he doubt now of being able some time to pay back principal and interest to his kind friend.  He went home with a lighter heart.  But he had never let Winnie know of his troubles, and could not for the same reason talk to her of this strange relief.

Thinking so, he went up the stairs and opened the door of his and her sitting-room.  The sun was down by that time, and the evening light was failing.  The table stood ready for tea; Winnie had all the windows open to let in the freshening air from the sea, which was beginning to make head against the heats and steams of the city; herself sat on the couch, away from the windows, and perhaps her attitude might say, away from everything pleasant.  Winthrop came silently up and put a little basket in her hand.