"Yes, I do. I'm going to set up for myself." "Oh, Dodger," said Florence, "I'm afraid you will get into trouble for my sake!" "Don't worry about that, Miss Florence. I'm old enough to take care of myself, and I've got tired of livin' with Tim." "But he may beat you!" "He'll have to get hold of me first." They had reached a four-story tenement of shabby brick, which was evidently well filled up by a miscellaneous crowd of tenants; shop girls, mechanics, laborers and widows, living by their daily toil. Florence had never visited this part of the city, and her heart sank within her as she followed Mrs. O'Keefe through a dirty hallway, up a rickety staircase, to the second floor. "One more flight of stairs, my dear," said Mrs. O'Keefe, encouragingly. "I've got four rooms upstairs; one of them is for you, and one for Dodger." Florence did not reply. She began to understand at what cost she had secured her freedom from a distasteful marriage. In her Madison Avenue home all the rooms were light, clean and luxuriously furnished. Here---- But words were inadequate to describe the contrast. Mrs. O'Keefe threw open the door of a back room about twelve feet square, furnished in the plainest manner, uncarpeted, except for a strip that was laid, like a rug, beside the bedstead. There was a washstand, with a mirror, twelve by fifteen inches, placed above it, a pine bureau, a couple of wooden chairs, and a cane-seated rocking-chair. "There, my dear, what do you say to that?" asked Mrs. O'Keefe, complacently. "All nice and comfortable as you would wish to see." "It is--very nice," said Florence, faintly, sacrificing truth to politeness. "And who do you think used to live here?" asked the apple-woman. "I'm sure I don't know." "The bearded woman in the dime museum," answered Mrs. O'Keefe, nodding