"'Tis a homely boy you picked out, Maisie."
"My boy is good enough for me," she returned gently, "as long as he keeps on trying, and does the best he can."
His face grew shadowed. "That's just it, girl," he said, rather sadly. "Someone said once that 'the best is bad enough,' and if that's so, what of my worst?"
"Your worst is for you to fight," answered this young sibyl. "Your worst is never as bad as it seems to you, just as long as you keep on fightin' it. And you will, Micky, won't you?" Her arms were stretched impulsively toward him.
He caught her hands, his eyes burning. "Till hell freezes over!" he told her, grimly. "Oh, excuse me!" he added confusedly. "I didn't mean—"
"Never mind, Micky, never mind!" she told him, with a laugh in her eyes. "I know how you feel."
"Yes, I guess you do!" he muttered. "If I could only blot out some things—if I'd been different from the beginning—if I'd had some chance—if I amounted to something now—ah! dreams—dreams!"
"Keep on dreaming, Micky," she said softly. "They'll take you on the right road—you're on it now—and they'll come true!"
There was a hesitant step outside. He arose, bending and taking her in his arms.
"I hope—I guess—I'm on the right road," he breathed. "And you've shown me the way, little girl; you have, for fair. Well, I must be going, I hear your mother outside. I've stayed too long now; I mustn't tire you. Well, good night, dear."