"Here he is, waterman," exclaimed the benevolent carpenter. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. . . Are these folks your current foster parents?” “Yes. "Taber," said the manager; "Taber is the name. But if God is kind to me, someday I may climb up to where you are. He had changed her life dramatically, and she had missed him dreadfully. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. CHAPTER XIV.
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